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JANICE DAY, 

THE YOUNG HOMEMAKER 


THE SOMETHING^ SERIES 
BY 

HELEN BEECHER LONG 


JANICE DAY, THE YOUNG 
HOMEMAKER 

JANICE DAY AT POKETOWN 
THE TESTING OF JANICE DAY 
HOW JANICE DAY WON 
THE MISSION OF JANICE DAY 
i2mo. Cloth. Illustrated 


GEO. SULLY & COMPANY 

NEW YORK 




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“Here you are,” said Janice, seizing the pot and 
carrying it to the stove. 


(See page 98) 


Janice Day, 

The 

Young Homemaker 


BY 

HELEN BEECHER LONG 

AUTHOR OF "JANICE DAY AT POKETOWN/^’ "tHE TESTING OF 
JANICE DAY," ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

CORINNE TURNER 



NEW YORK 

GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY 


Copyright, tgig, hy 
GEORGE SXJLLY AND COMPANY 


All rigkts resenred 


UCl -9 1919 


PEUfTED IN S. X: 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTHB pack 

L When Mother Was a Girl . 1 

11. The Hunt for the Treasure- 

Box •; t.; ..... 16 

III. Delia . . r. ... 29 

IV. More Troubles Than One . . 38 

V. Father and Daughter ... 46 

VI. The Carringfords .... 56 

VII. Arlo Junior Again .... 67 
VIII. They Come and Go .... 77 
IX. Shocks and Frocks .... 93 
X. Other People’s Troubles . . 101 

XL Mrs. Watkins 114 

XII. The Faded-out Lady . . . 124 

XIII. Stella’s Party 135 

XIV. Could It Be Olga? .... 147 

XV. The Lost Trail 155 

XVI. A Letter from Poketown . . 165 

XVII. Miss Peckhaic Washes Her 

Hands 173 


VIII 


CONTENTS 


XVIIL All in the Day’s Work . . 

XIX. A Flare-up . . . • . 

XX. Stella Keeps One Secret t* 
XXL The Closing of School . r.- 

XXII. Something Does Happen . > 

XXIII. The Silver Lining to a Very 
Black Cloud . . . 

XXIV. ‘Where There’s Smoke There’s 
Fire” 

XXV. Abel Strout at the Root of It 

XXVI. The Clouds Lower .... 
XXVII. Information That Is Too Late 

XXVIII. Gummy Comes Into His Own . 
XXIX. “But We Lose” . . . . 

XXX. What Might Have Been Ex- 
pected ... . . 


PAGE 

179 

186 

197 

208 

222 

230 

240 

251 

262 

270 

279 

291 

299 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


“Here you are/^ said Janice, seizing the 
pot and carrying it to the stove. (See 
page 98) . . .... Frontispiece^ 

FACING PAGE 

Delia had played more music than she had done 

housework 72 ^ 

“Well, Well!” exclaimed Braxton Day, rather 

sternly, “what is the meaning of this?” . . 160^^ 

“We must get that woman out of the house, 

Janice.” 236 ^ 



JANICE DAY, 

THE YOUNG HOMEMAKER 


CHAPTER I 

WHEN MOTHER WAS A GIRL 

''Why, that is Arlo Junior. What can he be doing 
out of doors so early? And look at those cats fol- 
lowing him. Did you ever 

Janice Day stared wonderingly from her front 
bedroom window at the boy crossing the street in the 
dim pre-dawn light, with a cat and three half -grown 
kittens gamboling about him. Occasionally Arlo 
Junior would shake something out of a paper to the 
ground and the cats would immediately roll and 
frolic and slap playfully at one another, acting as 
the girl had never seen cats act before. 

The pleasantly situated cottage belonging to Mr. 
Broxton Day stood almost directly across the way 
from the Arlo Weeks’ place on Knight Street. 
Therefore Janice often said that ‘'the days and 
nights and weeks are very close together V* 

Knight Street, as level as the palm of one’s hand, 


2 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

led straight into Greensboro, where it crossed Mar- 
ket and Hammond Streets, making the Six Cor- 
ners — actually the heart of the business district of 
this thriving mid-western town. 

The Day cottage was a mile and a half from the 
Six Corners and the Farmers & Merchants Bank in 
which Mr. Broxton Day held an important salaried 
position. Besides his house and his situation in the 
bank, Mr. Day considered another of his possessions 
very important indeed, although he did not list it 
when he made out his tax return. 

This that he so highly valued possessed the very 
brightest hazel eyes in the world, wore a wealth of 
fine brown hair in two plaits over her shoulders, 
and was of a slender figure without bordering upon 
that unfortunate ‘^skinniness” which nature abhors 
as she does a vacuum. 

Janice possessed, also, even teeth that flashed 
when she smiled (and she smiled often), a pink and 
white complexion that the sun was bound to freckle 
if she was not careful, and a cheerful, demure ex- 
pression of countenance that went a long way to- 
ward making her good to look upon, if not actually 
good-looking. 

In a spick and span blue-checked bungalow apron, 
she stood at her window just as Dawn swept a brush 
of parti-hued color across the eastern horizon. Hav- 
ing had it in her mind when she went to bed the 
night before to arise early, she had of course awak- 


When Mother Was a Girl 


3 


cned long before it was really time to get up to 
make sure that daddy, for once, got a proper break- 
fast. 

For the Days, father and daughter, were depen- 
dent on hired service, and such service in the form 
of Olga Cedar Strom was about as incapable and 
stupid as fate had yet produced. 

Having caught the first glimpse of that mischiev- 
ous youngster, Arlo Weeks, Junior, with the cats, 
Janice raised her window softly as far as the lower 
sash would go, to peer out at the strange procession. 
The boy and the cats entered the Days' side gate and 
disappeared around the corner of the kitchen ell. 

‘‘Now! what can that rascal be about? If he 
does anything to bother Olga there will be trouble. 
And everything here goes crossways enough now, 
without Arlo Junior adding to it, I declare V* 

Janice could very clearly remember when the cot- 
tage had been a real home instead of “just a place to 
stay"; for her mother had been dead only a year. 
The experiences of that year had been trying, both 
for the sorrowing widower and the girl who had 
been her mother's close companion and confidante. 

Janice was old enough and well trained enough 
in domestic affairs to have kept house very nicely 
for her father. But she had to go to school, of 
course ; an education was the most important thing 
in the world for her. And the kind of help that 
came into the Days' kitchen often balked at being 


y. Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


*1)0ssed by a slip of a gur-r-rl,” as one* recent 
incumbent of the position had said. 

Olga Cedarstrom was stupid and often cross in 
the morning; and she was careless and slatternly in 
her ways. But she did not object when Janice came 
down early to get her father's breakfast, and serve 
it daintily, as her mother had taught her. 

Only, Olga could not be taught to do these things. 
She did not want to learn. She said she had a 
''fella" and would be married soon; and under the 
circumstances she did not consider that she needed 
to learn anything more about domestic work I 

Janice did not wish to go down into the kitchen 
so early, for that would awaken Olga who would 
come from her room, blear-eyed with sleep and with 
her temper at a saw-tooth edge, to ask "why she 
bane get oop in de middle of de night?" 

Janice had washed and dressed ana read her 
morning Bible chapter, which she always managed 
to find time for, even when she did not get up as 
early as on this occasion. For her age, and per- 
haps because of her mother's death, which still 
seemed recent to Janice, she was rather serious- 
minded. Yet she was no prig, and she loved fun 
and was as alert for good times as any girl of her 
age in Greensboro. 

The talk she had had overnight with daddy had 
perhaps put her in a rather more serious mood than 
usual. The talk had been all about her mother and 


When Mother Was a Girl 


5 


the hopes the mother and father had had and the 
plans they had made for their little girl's future. 

To carry through those plans necessitated the 
proper schooling of Janice Day. She was already 
in the upper grade of the grammar school. Even if 
the household affairs were all ‘"at sixes and at sev- 
ens, " she must stick to her books, for she had ambi- 
tions. She was quite sure she wanted to teach whe* 
she grew up. 

There was another reason that spurred Janice 
Day to the point of early rising, although daddy had 
not even hinted that he missed the comfortable, 
daintily served breakfasts which he used to enjoy 
when Mrs. Day was alive. It was something he had 
said about an entirely different matter that started 
this serious train of thought in the girl's mind. 

She had expressed herself as so many of us do 
when we are in difficulties, or when we see condi- 
tions we would like to have changed: “Oh, if 
things were only different!'* 

Broxton Day had looked at her with his head 
held sidewise and a quizzical smile in his eyes as 
well as on his lips. 

“Different? Do you want to know how to bring 
about a change? Do something. Don't just talk, 
or think, or wonder, or wish, or hope; but do! It 
is all right to say that good things become a reality 
because somebody has a good thought. Actually, 
thinking does not bring things about. It is doing. 


6 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


Do something in the world, my dear. Don’t wait 
for somebody else to set the example, or to lead. 
Do what you can yourself while you are waiting 
for a leader. Do something. 

‘Df course thought must precede action, and, 
furthermore, must accompany action if action is 
not to run wild. But in the end thought must be- 
come action and we must all of us — ^little girls, as 
well as adults — do something if the conditions we 
do not like are to be changed.” 

That was really what had got Janice Day out of 
bed so early on this morning. Poor daddy! He 
sometimes had most awful meals served to him. 
And the house was usually in a state of confusion if 
it was not actually dirty. 

Olga had come straight from a peasant cottage 
in her country, and her idea of scrubbing the kitchen 
floor was to dash pails of water over it and then 
sweep the water out of the back door with a broom. 

There was a Swedish colony established around 
the pickle factories on the northern edge c * the 
town, and Olga went over there with her ‘Telia” to 
a dance or down town or to a picture show almost 
every evening. No wonder she was not fit for 
work in the morning. 

When Janice had come up to bed the previous 
evening she had brought with her the “treasure- 
box” which daddy usually kept in the wall safe in 
the living room. It contained certain heirlooms and 


When Mother Was a Girl 7 

trinkets that had been her mother’s, and were now 
Janice’s most sacred possessions. 

She had had to beg daddy for the treasure-box, 
for he, too, prized its contents beyond words. But 
Janice was a careful girl, and daddy trusted her, 
and he knew, too, that the mementoes of her dead 
mother seemed to bring the woman closer to the 
little daughter; and so, in the end, he had allowed 
Janice to carry the treasure-box to her room to be 
kept for the night, but to be returned to its usual 
place after the girl had had it by her and looked at 
its contents for a while. 

There were a few pieces of jewelry — more val- 
uable for their associations than for their intrinsic 
worth — the gold framed photographs of Grand- 
father and Grandmother Avion, which clasped like 
a little book, and the miniature of Janice’s mother 
painted on ivory when she was a girl by a painter 
who had since become very famous. 

This last was the girl’s dearest possession — the 
memento of her mother which she cared for above 
everything else. Daddy had put it into her keeping 
with a reverence that could not fail to impress 
Janice Day, young as she was. Broxton Day had 
worshipped his wife for her higher qualities as well 
as having loved her for her human attributes. 

Something of this attitude toward his dead wife 
Janice, young as she was, understood. She knew, 
for instance, that there was no other woman in the 


8 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

world a mate for Broxton Day now that her mother 
was gone. All the more must she try, therefore, to 
fill her mother's place in his life. 

She had taken the miniature out of the treasure- 
box and was looking with dimming eyes at it by the 
window when, shifting her glance, she had seen 
Arlo Weeks, Junior, crossing the street. This was 
her mother when she was a girl! What a sweet, 
demure face it was. Janice did not realize that much 
of the expression of the countenance in this minia- 
ture was visualized in the flesh in her own face. 

No wonder daddy had fallen in love with such a 
pretty, pretty girl ! So thought Janice Day And — 

What was Arlo Junior, the mischievous torment 
of the neighborhood, doing with those cats? This 
sudden query shattered her dream completely. She 
returned the miniature to the treasure-box, and 
closed and latched the cover. 

‘Goodness knows,” murmured Janice Day, 
‘‘there are cats enough around this house without 
Arlo Junior bringing any more upon the premises. 
Sometimes I hear them squalling and fighting when 
I wake up in the night.” 

With the treasure-box in her hand, she opened 
her bedroom door and crossed the hall to the store- 
room. The window of this room was over the back 
porch. She heard a step on the porch flooring. The 
door of the summer kitchen was seldom locked. 
Was Arlo Junior down there? 


When Mother Was a Girl g 

That boy was constantly getting into trouble with 
the neighbors. There was a regular feud between 
Olga Cedar Strom and Arlo Junior. Olga had chased 
him half a block only the other day, threatening him 
with a broom. 

And the cats! Here they came from all direc- 
tions— over the back yard fences and from the bam. 
Fat cats, lean cats, shabby “ash-bar reF’ cats, and 
pet cats with ribbons and collars. Amazedly, Jan- 
ice Day owned to herself that she had never seen so 
many cats gathered in a more or less harmonious 
group before. 

Instead of fighting or “miauling,” they ap- 
proached the back porch of the Day house as though 
on pleasure bent. Was that Arlo Junior giggling 
down there? 

She put down the treasure-box and tried to open 
the window. But the sash stuck. She distinctly 
heard the door below close and footsteps receding 
from the porch. 

Wishing to make sure that it was Arlo Junior 
who had been below, the girl ran back to her bed- 
room. Yes! there he was scuttling across the street 
in evident haste to get under cover. 

“Now, isn't that odd?” murmured Janice. 

Suddenly a sound floated up from below — an 
echoing wail that seemed wrenched from the very 
soul of a tortured cat. The cry reverberated 
through the house in a most eerie fashion. 


lO Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


Fortunately her father slept in the front of the 
house and there was a closed door between the front 
and the back halls on both floors. But Janice heard 
Olga’s big, flat feet land upon the floor almost in- 
stantly. That feline wail had evidently brought the 
Swedish girl out of her dreams, all standing. 

That sound sent Janice out of the room on a run. 
She must reach the seat of trouble before Olga got 
to the place ! Otherwise, the trouble was bound to 
increase and become — what? Even Janice’s imagi- 
nation, trained, as it was, by the succession of in- 
competent and unwilling kitchen helpers, could not 
picture that. 

Before Janice Day could reach the hall Olga was 
padding down the stairs to the kitchen. From the 
rear arose increasing howls. The cats may have 
mysteriously gathered in apparent amity; but so 
many of them shut up in that outer kitchen with no 
escape could not possibly dwell for long in harmony. 

There certainly was no harmony in these mount- 
ing wails. The principal motif seemed to be fur- 
nished by the cat that had first voiced his complaint. 
But now, as Janice plunged down the stairs after 
Olga, the thin, high scream of the initial feline chor- 
ister was crossed, in warp and woof, by basser 
strains. 

The sounds rose and fell, as though proceeding 
from cats in torment — an agonizing oratorio like 
nothing Janice had ever heard before. She screamed 


When Mother Was a Girl 


II 


to the Swedish girl, but her voice was drowned by 
the caterwauling in the back kitchen. Olga 
wrenched open the door. Janice, arriving to look 
over her shoulder at the very moment she did so, 
saw the back kitchen practically filled with cats. 

When one cat loses its temper it seems as though 
every other cat within hearing gets excited. In the 
corners, out of the way of the battlefield, kittens 
and tabbies were rolling and playing upon the dried 
twigs and leaves that Janice knew must be catnip 
that Arlo Junior had flung upon the floor to bait the 
cats into the kitchen. But the cats in the middle of 
the room were preparing for the representation of 
a busy day at Donnebrook Fair. 

“Them cats ! In de clean kitchen what I scrubbed 
last night only ! I bane kill them cats V* And there 
was not a cat in the lot as mad as Olga Cedarstrom. 

There was a hod of coal beside her. Olga seized 
the good-sized lumps of stove coal, one after an- 
other, and began volleying with a strong overhand 
throw at the excited animals. 

Olga proved to be an excellent shot. She hit a 
cat with almost every lump of coal she threw. But 
she could not, after all, have easily failed to do this, 
there were so many cats in the kitchen. 

“Oh, don’t! Don’t, Olga! Stop!” shrieked Jan- 
ice. ‘Wou will hurt them.” 

“Hurt them ?” repeated the girl. “I bane mean to 
hurt dem*” and, slam! went another lump of coal. 


[12 Janice Day, the Young Homemakeri 

‘‘But they can't get out!" gasped Janice. 

‘‘Den how dey get in, huh ?" demanded Olga, and 
threw another lump with terrific force. 

There was a howl, higher and more blood-cur- 
dling than any that had heretofore assailed their 
cars. One big cat scrambled up the wall, and up the 
window panes, seeking an exit. One of the crea- 
ture's legs dragged limply. 

“Olga Cedarstrom!" shrieked Janice, “you have 
broken that poor cat's leg." 

“I bane break all his legs!" rejoined this quite 
ferocious girl. “How dese cats coom here? I 
bane sure you know !" 

She turned to glare at Janice Day so savagely, a 
lump of coal poised in her smutted hand, that the 
girl was really frightened. She backed away from 
the angry woman. 

Then she -thought of something she might do to 
save the cats and the back kitchen from complete 
wreck. Janice darted out of the room to the porch. 
In a moment she had unlatched the summer-kitchen 
door and flung it wide open. 

Instantly there boiled out of the room cats big 
and cats little, cats of all colors and every degree of 
fright. One of the last to escape was the poor cat 
with the broken leg. There was nothing Janice 
Day could do for it. She did not dare to try to touch 
it. 

She ventured back into the house to find Olga 


When Mother Was a Girl 131 

Cedarstrom still breathing out threatenings and 
slaughter. Olga was in her nightgown and a wrap- 
per. She had not even stopped for slippers when 
she came from her bed. Now she padded to the 
back stairs, turning to shake her clenched fist at 
Janice and cry; 

“I leave! I leave! I bane going to pack my 
troonk. The man pay me oop to last night, and I 
leave !” 

‘T am glad of it!’’ gasped Janice, finding her 
voice again. "Tt wasn’t my fault, and it wasn’t the 
poor cats’ fault. I am glad you are going, so there !” 

But she became more serious as she prepared the 
nice breakfast she had promised herself the night 
before her father should have. She heard Olga go 
to the telephone in the hall. She called a number 
and then talked in Swedish for several minutes to 
whoever answered. 

Janice’s father came into the dining-room just as 
his little daughter brought in the breakfast. When 
he saw the steaming coffee pot and the covered 
dishes and toast-rack his face brightened. But he 
had to be told of the domestic catastrophe impend- 
ing. 

‘Well,” he said cheerfully, “we couldn’t get any- 
body any worse than Olga, that is sure. I will see 
what they have at the intelligence office, and I may 
send a woman up after you get home from school 
this afternoon. I’ll ’phone you first, daughter. I 


ii4 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker. 

don’t have to see Olga, ‘do i? She was paid last 
night.” 

No, Janice told him, he need not bother about a 
servant who was on the point of going. Before it 
was time for Janice to leave for school, a taxicab 
appeared, driven by a man of Olga’s own national- 
ity. He went upstairs for the girl’s trunk. 

This he shouldered and carried out to the cab. 
Olga followed him, wearing the red hat with the 
green plume which had so amused Janice when the 
Swedish girl had arrived. She drove away in the 
cab without even looking back at Janice Day. 

The latter had tidied up the kitchen and dining- 
room. The back kitchen would have to remain as 
it was until later. And Janice felt that she would 
like to get hold of Arlo Weeks, Junior, and make 
him clean up that kitchen ! 

She changed to her school dress, strapped together 
the books she had studied the night before, put on 
her hat, and stood a moment in the hall, wondering 
if all would be right until she should return at three 
o’clock. 

And then for the first time, and suddenly, Janice 
remembered the treasure-box 

She darted upstairs to her bedroom. How care- 
less of her to have left it there! She knew the 
simple combination of the wall safe in the living 
room, and she determined to open the safe and put 
the box away. 


When Mother Was a Girl 15 

But when she entered her bedroom she found that 
the treasure-box was not there. Instantly she 
remembered having taken it with her when she ran 
into the storeroom to see what Arlo Junior was 
doing with the cats. 

In trying to open the window in the storeroom 
she had set the box down on a trunk— -on Olga's 
trunk. 

Startled, indeed alarmed and shaking, Janice Day 
went as fast as she could to the storeroom. Olga's 
trunk was gone. She did not see the treasure-box 
anywhere in the room. 

She searched the room diligently. She ran from 
room to room — Olga’s, her own, even the other bed- 
rooms. She halted at last in her own room, sobbing 
and alarmed. 

The treasure-box was gone. Olga’s trunk had 
gone. Olga herself had gone. 

And the photographs of Grandfather and Grand- 
mother Avion, the old-fashioned jewelry, the diary 
her mother had kept as a little girl, the miniature 
Janice thought so much of — all, all the keepsakes her 
father had entrusted her with the night before, 
seemed to have gone with Olga and the trunk 


CHAPTER II 


THE HUNT FOR THE TREASURE-BOX 

This was a very tragic happening in Janice Day's 
life. She had never been regardless of important 
matters ; that was why daddy had not even warned 
her to be careful of the treasure-box. 

He assumed that she would consider its precious 
contents and guard it accordingly. Why! he had 
not even mentioned it this morning, he had been so 
confident of her good sense. 

And because of Arlo Junior and a bunch of cats 
she had forgotten all about her mother’s miniature 
and all the other heirlooms in the treasure-box! 
Her tears were those of anger at herself as well as 
sorrow because of the disappearance of the heir- 
looms. Yet at the moment she did not fully appre- 
ciate the full weight of the happening. 

Janice could not stand and cry about it. She had 
assured herself that the treasure-box was not where 
she had left it — was not in the storeroom at all, as 
far as she could see. Olga certainly had not picked 
it up and placed it in any of the rooms on this second 
floor, or anywhere else where it could be easily seen. 


The Hunt For the Treasure-Box 17 


Janice could only believe that the Swedish girl, 
either by intention or in some involuntary way, had 
carried the treasure-box off with her. Yet it did 
not seem as though Olga Cedarstrom, bad temper 
and all. could be a thief! That was an awful 
thought. 

‘‘Maybe she has done it to plague me,” Janice 
thought. “She is awfully mad at me. She thought 
it was my fault that the cats got into the back 
kitchen. And now she means to pay me back. She 
means to return it. 

“But where has she gone? And what shall I 
do?” were the final queries formed in Janice Day’s 
mind. 

She must not stand idle. It was nearing school 
time. Nor could she neglect the matter until she 
came home from school at three o’clock. If Olga 
Cedarstrom were really dishonest, she might be get- 
ting farther and farther away from Greensboro 
while Janice remained inactive! 

She must do something. 

Janice went slowly downstairs. First of all it 
was her duty to communicate with her father at the 
bank. She hated to tell him of this happening, for 
she realized keenly her fault in the matter. But not 
for a moment did the girl consider hiding the un- 
fortunate affair from Broxton Day. 

She went to the telephone and called the bank. 
Then she asked for Mr. Day. She could almost 


1 8 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


see him taking the receiver from the hook when the 
bell on his telephone rang. 

‘Yes?’' Daddy's voice sounded clearly and cour- 
teously over the wire. “This is Day." 

“Often when he said this over the telephone Jan- 
ice would respond, giggling: “And this is Knight — 
Street! Number eight-forty-five." 

But she did not feel at all like joking on this occa- 
sion. All in a rush she told him of the tragic hap- 
pening. 

“And I don't know what to do. Daddy," was the 
way in which she ended her story. 

Even over the telephone the girl realized that her 
father was more startled than she expected him to 
be. His voice did not sound at all natural as he 
asked : 

“Do you mean to tell me that everything that was 
in that box is lost, Janice? Everything?" 

“Oh, Daddy !" choked the girl, “I put everything 
back before I closed the box — ^mamma's picture, 
and her diary, and all." 

“There were other things " 

“Oh, yes! The jewelry and the photographs," 
said Janice. 

“More than those," her father's hoarse voice said 
quickly. “I cannot explain to you now, my child. 
Didn't you know there was a false bottom in that 
box?" 

“A false bottom to the treasure-box, Daddy?" 
she cried wonderingly. 


The Hunt For the Treasure-Box 19 

‘'A secret compartment.” 

‘'Oh! I didn’t know ” 

“No, of course not. I blame myself, my dear,” 
he added, and she knew that he was striving to con- 
trol his voice. “Do not cry any more. I will 
explain when I come home.” 

“Oh, Daddy!” 

“Are you sure you have looked carefully for the 
box?” and he now spoke more moderately. 

“Oh, yes, Daddy.” 

“Looked everywhere?” 

“Indeed I have.” 

“Then, daughter, by the face of the clock in front 
of me, I advise you to hurry away to school. I 
will see what can be done. You say Olga went 
away in a taxicab ?” 

“Yes, Daddy.” 

“Of course, you did not notice the number of the 
car?” 

“Oh, no, sir. But the man was a Swede like 
Olga. And he came in and carried down her 
trunk.” 

“I will see what can be done. Go to school like a 
good girl and do not let anxiety spoil your recita- 
tions. Good-bye.” 

He hung up the receiver and Janice followed his 
example. There seemed nothing else she could do. 

She would have been late for school had not Stella 
Latham driven by the Day cottage in her father’s 


20 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


car just as Janice came out. Stella lived some dis- 
tance out of town, her father being a well-to-do 
farmer, and she was driven in daily by either her 
brother or one of the farm hands. 

Janice saw the automobile coming in the distance 
and soon recognized the Latham car. 

‘'Dear me!’’ she sighed, "I hope Stella will not 
turn down Hester Street. If she comes this far 
she’ll be sure to ask me to ride, and then I can get 
to school on time ” 

With rather anxious eyes Janice watched the on- 
coming car. Yes, it passed Hester Street and came 
on down Knight Street to make a later turn off to- 
ward the schoolhouse. The car almost shot past 
Janice before the girl inside saw her on the side- 
walk. Then the girl suddenly leaned out of the 
swiftly moving car. 

“Oh, Janice Day!” screamed Stella, warning her 
driver to stop with one hand while she beckoned to 
Janice with the other. “Hurry! You’ll be late. 
Get in here.” 

Janice ran after the car, glad of the lift. Stella 
was a buxom girl, a year or two older than Janice, 
but in the latter’s grade at school. “Ever so nice” 
Janice thought her. But, Janice thought most of 
her school friends were “nice.” She was friendly 
toward them, so they had no reason to be otherwise 
than kind to her. 

Not that Janice Day was either namby-pamby or 


[The Hunt J'or the iTreasure-Box 21 

stupid. She had opinions, and expressed them 
frankly; and she possessed a strong will of her own. 
But she -tried not to hurt other people^s feelings; 
and if she stood up for her opinions, she usually 
did so without antagonizing anybody. 

^‘You're just the girl I wanted to see, anyway, 
Janice, before school,'' Stella said, as the younger 
girl hopped into the tonneau and the chauffeur let 
in the clutch again. 

''Now you see — all of me!" said Janice brightly, 
trying to put the trouble of the lost treasure-box 
behind her. 

Her eyelids were just a little red, and she took one 
more long, sobbing breath. But Stella was so very 
much interested in her own affairs that she noticed 
nothing at all strange about her friend. 

"Oh, Janice!" Stella said, "I'm to have a birthday 
party. You know, I told you all about it before." 

"Yes, Stella, you told me," agreed Janice. 

"Of course I did. And I want you to come. I 
couldn’t really have a party without you, Janice. 
But I am not so sure about some of the girls." 

"Oh, dear me!” murmured Janice. "If I was 
going to have a regular party I'd invite all the girls 
in our class — or else none at all." 

"Now, that's just like you! You always are so 
quick. How did you know I didn’t want to invite 
her?" complained Stella, pouting. 

"I didn't know. Whom do you mean to learifi 
out?" Janice asked, smiling. 


22 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

‘There! That’s what my mother says I You are 
always so shrewd and sly.” 

‘‘Oh!” cried Janice not at all pleased, "‘does your 
mother think I am sly?” 

“We-ell, she said you were shrewd,” admitted 
Stella, changing color. “Now, don’t get mad, Jan- 
ice Day. I want you to help me.” 

“You go about it in a funny way,” said Janice, 
rather piqued. “I am not sly enough to be of any 
use to you, I guess.” 

“Now, don’t be angry!” wailed the other girl. 
“What I mean is, that you always see through things 
and can get out of difficulties.” 

‘T didn’t know I got into difficulties — ^not many 
anyway,” Janice added, with a little sigh. 

“Dear me, Janice! don’t split hairs — please,” said 
the very selfish and self-centered Stella. “I vrant 
your help. Do tell me how to get out of asking 
that girl to my party without offending her friends 
— for she has got friends, curiously enough.” 

“For goodness’ sake!” gasped Janice. “What 
girl do you wish to snub, Stella ?” 

“There you go with your nasty insinuations!” 
exclaimed Stella, whiningly. “I don’t want to snub 
anybody. But some people are impossible !” 

“Meaning me?” Janice asked with twinkling 
eyes. 

“Of course not. Why will you so misunderstand 
me? I wouldn’t snub you, Janice Day. I am speak- 
ing of Amy Carringford.” 


The Hunt For the Treasure-Box 23 

‘‘Oh! It is Amy you wish to snub, is it?” Janice 
said, with a change of tone. 

Even Stella noted the change. She seized Janice’s 
arm. 

“Now, don’t! You made me say that. I don’t 
really want to snub her. I don’t want to hurt her 
feelings. But, of course, I can’t have those pauper 
children at my party — ^Amy and Gummy. ‘Gum- 
my!’ What a frightful name! And his pants are 
patched at the knees. They wouldn’t — either of 
them — have a decent thing to wear, of course.” 

Janice said nothing for a long minute. Stella’s 
blue eyes, which were actually more staring than 
pretty, began to cloud ominously. Instinctively she 
sensed that Janice was not with her in this. 

“Amy Carringford is a nice girl, I think,” Janice 
Day said mildly. “And perhaps she has a party 
dress, Stella.” 

“There you go! Always standing up for any- 
thing mean or common,” stormed Stella. “I might 
have known you wouldn’t help me.” 

“Why did you ask me then?” Janice inquired with 
some rising spirit. 

“Because you’re always so sharp about things; 
and you can help me if you want to.” 

Stella Latham was certainly much more frankly 
spoken than politic. Janice Day excused her school- 
mate to a degree. She usually found excuses for 
every one but herself. 


24 Janice Day, the Young Homemakeri 


''I was only trying to help you,” Janice said slow- 
ly. ‘You haven’t really anything against Amy, 
have you?” 

“She’s a pauper — a regular pauper.” 

“Why, that’s not so,” interrupted Janice. “S 
pauper must be one who is supported at the public 
expense. We had that word only the other day in 
our lesson, you know, Stella. And Amy Carring- 
ford— or her folks — aren’t like that.” 

“Nobody knows what or who they are. They’ve 
only just come here and from goodness knows 
where. And they live in that little tumble-down 

house in Mullen Lane, and ” 

“Oh, dear me, Stella!” interrupted Janice, with 
a sudden laugh. “That list of crimes will never 
send anybody to jail. You are awfully critical. 
Amy has awfully pretty manners, and just wonder- 
ful hair. She sings and dances well, too. And 

Gummy — "Gumswith’ is his full name ” 

“‘Gumswithl’ Fancy!” ejaculated the farmer’s 
critical daughter. 

“Yes, isn’t it awful?” returned Janice. “Any- 
body would be sorry for a boy with such a name. 
And he hasn’t even a middle one they can call him 
by. You know it isn’t his fault, Stella, that he has 
such a horrid name.” 

“No, I don’t suppose it is. But ^ 

“And Amy is so nice. She is just about my siz^, 
Stella, and if you promise never to tell ** 


The Hunt For the Treasure-Box 25 

'*What is it ? A secret ?” eagerly demanded Stella, 
as Janice hesitated. 

'‘Yes. Or it will be a secret if you promise.'' 

''Cross my heart, Janice," declared Stella, who 
loved secrets, 

"Well — ^now," said Janice Day, most seriously, 
"if you invite Amy, and she can't come because she 
hasn’t any party dress, I’ll lend her one of mine 
that was made for me just before my mother died. 
I am wearing only black and white. I’ve outgrown 
those new dresses that were made for me then, I 
guess. And Amy is just a weeny bit smaller than I 
am. 

"But Janice Day! you — ^you're helping Amy Car- 
ringford. You’re not helping me at all !’’ 

"Why, yes I am helping you," said Janice warmly. 
"At least, I am trying to. If you will invite Amy 
with the rest of us girls. I’ll see that she has a party 
di^ess. I should think that was helping you a whole 
lot, Stella Latham. You said you didn’t want to 
hurt her feelings." 

The car reached the schoolhouse. Janice was out 
of it like a flash with her schoolbooks and lunch. 
The bell was tolling. 

"Now, isn’t that just like Janice Day?" grumbled 
Stella, following her from the automobile. "She is 
a sly little thing !” 

Mr. Broxton Day felt much more troubled than 
Janice possibly could feel about the disappearance 


26 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

of the treasure-box and the keepsakes it contained* 
Intrinsically, the value of the articles that she named 
was not very great, although nothing could replace 
the diary or the miniature of his dead wife. But as 
he had intimated to Janice over the telephone there 
was something else. There was that lost with the 
so-called treasure-box that meant more to him than 
the mementoes his daughter had known about. 

During this lonely year that had passed since hig 
wife’s death, Mr. Day’s experiences with domestic 
help had been disheartening as well as varied. 

Olga Cedarstrom had been with them two months. 
She had come rather better recommended than most 
of her predecessors. Instead of obtaining her serv- 
ices through an agency, Mr. Day had found her in 
‘Tickletown,” as the hamlet at the pickle works was 
called. 

There Olga, recently arrived in Greensboro, ha3 
been living with friends. Mr. Day went over therC 
first of all to search for the girl. 

But her whilom friends knew nothing about Olga 
since the previous evening. They did not know that 
she contemplated leaving Mr. Day. And she had 
not appeared at Pickletown after she had departed 
from eight hundred and forty-five Knight Streefi 
that morning. 

Mr. Day did not wish to put the police on tH© 
trail of the absent Olga. In the first place there was 
no real evidence that the Swedish girl had stolen tlii 
box of mementoes. 


The Hunt For the Treasure-Box 27 

If she had taken them at all, she must have done 
so just to pique Janice, not understanding how really 
valuable the contents of the box were. If possible, 
Mr. Day wished to recover the lost box without the 
publicity of going to the police, both for Olga’s sake 
and for his own. 

And then as Janice had told him, the taxicab 
driver had been in the house. He had gone upstairs 
to the storeroom for Olga’s trunk — ^to the very room 
in which Janice had last seen the treasure-box. 

It might be that the driver was the person guilty 
of taking the box. Olga might know nothing about 
it. Yet her disappearance without informing her 
friends of her intention to leave Greensboro looked 
suspicious. 

Mr. Day had to search further. He had two 
other persons to discover. One was Olga’s ‘'fella”; 
the other was the Swedish taxicab driver. 

From people who knew Olga around the pickle 
factories it was easy to learn that Olga’s friend was 
a hard working and estimable young man named 
Willie Sangreen. Just at this time Willie was away 
from home. They could tell Mr. Day nothing about 
Willie’s absence either at his boarding-house, or 
where he was employed. But in both instances they 
were sure Willie would be back. 

In hunting for the Swedish taxicab driver Mr. 
Day had even less good fortune. There were two 
taxicab companies in Greensboro and less than a 


28 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


dozen independent owners of cabs. Before noon 
he had learned, beyond peradventure, that there was 
not a cab driver in town of Swedish nationality. 

He presumed that the cab must have come from 
out of town. Where it had come from, and where 
it had gone with Olga, and Olga’s trunk, and, possi- 
bly, with the treasure-box, seemed a mystery insolv- 
able. 

If Olga or the cab driver had stolen the box of 
heirlooms it seemed that all trace of their where- 
abouts had been skillfully covered 


CHAPTER III 


DELIA 

In spite of her anxiety Janice fixed her mind 
upon her recitations with her usual success. During 
the past few months so many, many things had hap- 
pened to trouble the home pool that the girl was 
pretty well used to seeing it ruffled. 

‘‘Help” came and went at the Day cottage on 
Knight Street in a procession of incompetents. 
Some incumbents of the domestic situation remained 
but a week. Olga Cedarstrom had been longer than 
any in Mr. Day's employ. 

Often, when they were without a girl, Janice had 
spent her Saturday holiday trying to clean house and 
set things to rights, and when daddy had come home 
from the bank he had donned a kitchen apron and 
helped. 

The house was by no means kept as it had been 
when Mrs. Day was alive. For she had been a 
trained housewife, and she knew how to make the 
domestic help do the work properly. 

Now there was dust under the furniture and in 
the corners. Pots and pans were grimy. Because 


29 


30 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

of the rough methods of cleaning pursued by Olga, 
the baseboards of the kitchen were streaked with a 
*‘high-tide’' mark of soapy water. 

The stove and the gas range were smeared with 
grease. Scarcely a cooking utensil but was sticky. 
The silver went unpolished. The yolk of egg (''the 
very stickingest thing there was'’ Janice declared,) 
could be found on the edges of plates and spoons. 

And the laundry! The "wet wash," the "flat 
work" laundry, and the complete service laundry 
were all only a little worse than the attempts of the 
hired help to wash clothes properly. 

Bed and table linen wore out twice as fast as it 
should, Janice knew. Nobody would wash and turn 
socks and stockings as they should be washed and 
turned. Fruit stains were never removed. 

Either the girls used kerosene in boiling the 
clothes and the odor of it clung to them even after 
they were laid away in the bureau drawers, or she 
threw chloride of lime into the water which ate 
holes in the various fabrics. Mother used to make 
Javelle water to whiten the clothes, but Janice did 
not know how it was made, nor had she time to 
make it. 

Indeed, with school-closing in the offing and les- 
sons and examinations getting harder and harder, 
the girl scarcely had time to keep her own clothing 
neat and mended. She knew that right now daddy 
was wearing socks with holes in them. 


Delia 


31 

So, when her mind was not fixed upon her lessons, 
it was not likely that even Stella Latham’s birthday 
party occupied much of Janice’s thought. She 
started home from school as soon as she was 
released, considering if she could get the back 
kitchen cleaned up before it was time to get supper 
for daddy. The lumps of soft coal Olga Cedar- 
strom had thrown at the cats had made an awful 
mess of the place, Janice very well knew. 

As she turned the corner into Knight Street there 
was Arlo Weeks, Junior, just ahead of her. Arlo 
Junior, the cause of the morning’s trouble! Arlo 
Junior, the cause of Olga’s leaving the Days in the 
lurch! More, Arlo Junior, who was the spring of 
Janice Day’s deeper trouble, for if it had not been 
for that mischievous wight, Olga Cedarstrom could 
not have run off with the treasure-box ! 

Arlo Junior had black, curly hair like his father. 
He had snapping brown eyes, too, and was quick 
and nervous in his movements. Of all the Weeks 
children (Daddy said there was a ‘Taft” of theml) 
Arlo Junior was the worst behaved. He was for- 
ever in trouble. 

To report him to his parents was just like shoot- 
ing cannon balls into a stack of feathers. His moth- 
er, tall, cadaverous, and of complaining voice and 
manner, only declared: 

*‘He’s too much for me. I tell Arlo that Junior 
ought to be locked up, or handcuffed, or something. 
And that’s all the good it does.” 


32 Janice Day, tHe Young Homemaker 

To complain to Mr. Weeks of his namesake was 
quite as unsatisfactory.” 

'What? The young rascal!” Mr. Weeks would 
emphatically say. "Arlo did that? Well, I tell you 
what. If you catch him at any of his tricks, you 
thrash him. That's what you do — ^thrash him! 
You have my full permission to punish him as 
though he were your own boy. That's the only way 
to deal with a rascal like him.” 

So, you see, both parents shed responsibility, both 
for Arlo Junior's mischief and punishment, just as 
easily as a duck sheds rainwater. Under these 
circumstances Arlo Junior usually went without 
punishment, no matter what he did. 

And here he was, swaggering along the walk with 
some of his mates, hilariously telling them, perhaps, 
of how he had tolled all the cats of the neighborhood 
into the Days' back kitchen. 

Janice Day was a very human girl indeed. The 
thought of Junior’s trick and all it had brought 
about made her very, very angry. She rushed 
right into the group of boys, all fully as big as she 
was, soundly boxed Arlo Weeks’ ears, and just 
as many times as she could do so before he outran 
her and left her, panting and still wrathful, on the 
curb. 

The other boys backed away, leaving Arlo Junior 
to fight his own battle— -or run, if that seemed to 
him the part of wisdom, as evidently it had. 


Delia 


33 

hope that will teach you to bring cats into our 
kitchen, Arlo Junior V* Janice cried after him. 

“No, ^twon't,” declared the boy, rubbing the car 
that had received the greater number of her blows. 
“I knew how to do it before, didn't I? My, Janice 
Day ! but you can slam a fella." 

“I wish I could hurt you more," declared the girt 
“You've made me enough trouble." 

She marched on, leaving the scattered crowd of 
urchins to gather again about Arlo Junior, but now 
in a scoffing rather than in an admiring crowd. The 
bubble of Arlo Junior's conceit had been punctured. 
He had been whipped by a girl ! 

“Now," thought Janice, as she went along home, 
“I would not want daddy to know I did that. Fight- 
ing a boy on the street ! I guess Miss Peckham, who 
is always peering through her blinds at what I do, 
if she had seen me would be sure to say I was mis- 
behaving because I had no mother to make me 
mind. As though I wouldn't behave just as well for 
daddy as I used to for dear mother ! 

“Only I haven't really behaved very well to-day," 
she went on, reviewing the matter to herself. “I 
don't care! Yes, I do too! No matter what Arlo 
Weeks, Junior, did, I oughtn't to have fought him 
on the street like that. Oh, dear !" mused the girl, 
“I don't know whether I am sorry I hit Arlo Junior 
or am sorry that I'm not sorry. It's awfully con- 
fusing.” 


34 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

She choked back a sob, dashed the tears from 
her eyes, and suddenly saw that the hazy object 
she had been looking at for the past minute was 
really a human figure squatting on the side porch 
steps of the Day cottage. 

“Why! who can that be?” thought Janice Day, 
staring with all her might at the odd-looking crea- 
ture perched thus on the steps, with a bulging 
old-fashioned black oilcloth bag beside her. 

It was a woman in a cheap, homemade calico 
dress, and with rows upon rows of flounces on the 
skirt. She sat on the next-to-the-top step of the 
porch while her shoes were planted flat-footed on the 
walk. She was very short-waisted, while her limbs, 
accentuated by the model of the flounced skirts 
seemed enormously long. 

Indeed, she looked like the halves of two people 
mysteriously glued together. Her nether limbs 
without doubt belonged to a giantess; her body al- 
though broad and sturdy, was almost dwarflike. 
Her arms were very short. 

Above this strange figure was a fat, baby-like face, 
with staring, light-blue eyes and whisps of straw- 
colored hair laid flat to her head under a close fit- 
ting hat 

“Its another one,” groaned Janice, her heart 
sinking. “I know she must be from the intelligence 
office, because — well — she looks so unintelligent, I 
guess !” 


Delia 


35 


Janice opened the gate and approached the un- 
gainly woman doubtfully. Surely daddy could not 
have seen her before hiring this very peculiar- 
looking person. He must have accepted her services 
over the telephone, and “unsight, unseen. ’’ 

The new hired girl wreathed her flabby face in 
a vacuous smile. She bobbed up from her seat, 
bringing the oilcloth bag with her, and towering 
over Janice Day in a most startling manner. 

“How-de-do! I guess you are afther bein’ Mr. 
Day’s little girl, heh?” 

The voice from the giantess made Janice jump. 
It was high and squealing, like a bat’s voice; and 
some people’s ears are not attuned to the bat’s cry 
and cannot hear it at all. 

“Ye-es. I am Janice Day,” admitted the girl. 

“Well,” squealed the newcomer, “I’m the lady 
your paw sent up to do the work. You’re a right 
pretty little girl, ain’t you ?” 

Janice ignored this bit of flattery as she mounted 
the steps and drew forth the door key. 

“What is your name, please?” she asked the 
woman. 

“Why, I’ll tell you,” said the other in a most 
confidential tone, blundering up the steps after Jan- 
ice and stooping to get her lips near the girl’s ear. 
“My real name is Mrs. Bridget Burns; but my 
friends all call me Delia. I don’t like ‘Bridget.’ 
Would you mind callin* me Delia, or else Mrs. 
Burns, heh ?” 


^6 Janice Day, tHe Young HomemaKer; 

think father would prefer to call you by your 
first name,” Janice said, trying not to show her 
surprise and amusement *We will call you Delia if 
that pleases you.” 

“YouVe a real nice little girl, I can see that,” 
said Delia, with a huge sigh of satisfaction, follow- 
ing Janice, bag and all, into the house. 

Janice led the way up the back stairs to the girl’s 
room. It was just as Olga had left it — as untidy 
and “mussed up” as ever a room was. 

Delia uttered a high, nasal ejaculation. “I guess 
your last girl wasn’t very clean,” she said. “Who 
was she ?” 

“She was a Swede,” Janice replied wearily. 

“Heh! Them Swedes!” sniffed Delia, voicing a 
pronounced national prejudice. 

“She left in a hurry,” Janice explained. “She — 
she got mad. One of the neighbor’s boys played a 
trick on her and she left.” 

“Ye don’t be tellin’ me? Couldn’t she spank the 
boy? Sure, ’tis no sinse them foreigners has.” 

“I hope you will not take offense so easily,” Jan- 
ice rejoined. “Here is clean linen for your bed. 
We send the flat work to the laundry. There is a 
broom and carpet sweeper in the storeroom, and 
plenty of dust cloths. You would better put your 
own room in order first. Then you can come down 
and I will show you about getting dinner.” 

“Sure, you is very young to be so knowin’ about 
housework. Is your mother dead?” 


Delis ^ 7 ^ 

“Yes” 

•*I didn’t know but she’d gone off and left you 
and your paw/’ observed this strange creature, *‘So 
many of them be’s doin’ that now.” 

‘‘Oh !” gasped the girl. 

“So that’s why your paw did the hirin’ through 
Murphy’s Agency! Well, I like to work where 
there’s no lady boss,” said Delia. “You and me is 
goin’ to get on fine.” 

Janice wondered if that were so. In no very 
enthusiastic frame of mind, she descended the stairs 
to put away her hat and coat and to place her books 
on the table in the living-room. 


CHAPTER lY 


MORE TROUBLES THAN ONE 

Janice dreaded to have this new house worker 
look into that back kitchen and see its condition. 
What Olga had done with the soft coal ammunition 
was enough to make Delia depart before she had 
even taken up her new duties. 

Yet Janice shrank from cleaning the room her- 
self. She had a lot of home work to do for school, 
and she would have to show the new girl, too, just 
where everything was kept and what was expected 
of her. 

Fortunately the dinner-getting would be a simple 
matter. There was a roast already prepared for the 
oven, potatoes and another vegetable, and a salad. 
The latter were in the house. Olga had been no 
dessert maker, but there were canned pears in the 
refrigerator and some baker's cake (Daddy called 
it ‘‘sweetened sawdust") in the cupboard. 

The girl would have to be told about these things. 
Fortunately they had not begun to use the summer 
kitchen as yet. It was true that Olga had only the 
day before cleaned the place, as well as she knew 


38 


More Troubles Than One 


39 

how, in preparation for the approaching warm 
weather. 

But to put things to rights in that room again, and 
to remove all traces of the bombardment of the cats, 
would take half a day or more! And Janice Day 
shrank from the use of the scrubbing brush and 
strong soda-water. 

She decided that the back kitchen could not be 
cleaned this afternoon. She put on her bungalow 
apron and took the salad from the icebox where it 
had lain on the ice in a cheesecloth bag. She usually 
prepared the salad herself, for daddy was fond of it 
and most of the itinerant help they had had consid- 
ered *'grass only fit for horses and cows.'* 

She was decanting the oil, drop by drop, into the 
salad dressing when Delia appeared in the kitchen. 
There was one good point about the giantess; her 
face and hands looked as though they were familiar 
with soap and water. She had removed the ruffled 
monstrosity and had put on a more simple frock. It 
did not serve to make her look less ungainly; but 
nevertheless it, likewise, was clean. 

"Are you doing the cooking?’* asked the new 
incumbent, her weak, squeaky voice quite above high 
C "An* do I help you?** 

"I am fixing the salad because my father likes it 
prepared in a certain way. I will show you what 
else there is to do, Delia.** 

Janice spoke in rather a grown-up way because 


Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


she had had so much experience with a class of 
‘houseworkers only too willing to take advantage 
of her youth and inexperience. 

'Isn't that nice!” sighed Delia, with her rather 
foolish smile. 

Janioe wondered whether the woman was making 
fun of her, or if she was quite as silly as she 
appeared. But if Delia would only do the work 
and do it half-way right, Janice told herself she did 
not care if Delia was actually an idiot. At least, the 
new girl seemed good-natured. 

And she was not all thumbs! But Janice stuffed 
die end of a kitchen towel into her mouth more than 
once to stifle her giggles when she chanced to think 
bf how daddy would look when he caught his first 
glimpse of the gigantic Delia, 

When the vegetables were peeled and on the stove, 
and the roast was cooking in the covered roaster, 
Janice led Delia through the lower part of the house. 
She tried to explain what there was to do on the 
morrow when Delia would be alone all day, with 
daddy at business and herself at school. 

'Yes, ma'am,” said Delia, after each item was 
{explained. "And then what do I do?'' 

Her vacant face advertised to all beholders that 
she promptly forgot what she was told. One partic- 
ular formula for work drove the previously ex- 
plained item immediately out of Delia's head. 

"Isn't it a nice house?'' was her final whistling 


More Troubles Than One 


41 


comment as they came back to the kitchen. ‘‘And 
where does this door lead ?’* 

She opened the back kitchen door. She stared 
at the coal-littered floor, at the streaked and smut- 
ted walls, at the overturned chairs and a broken 
flower-pot or two that had come to ruin during the 
bombardment. 

‘‘Sure! whativer struck the place?’’ asked Delia 
in her high, squeaking voice. ‘What happened?” 

Janice told her. Delia shook her head and slowly 
closed the door — slowly but firmly. “If folks will 
hire thim Swedes, ’tis all they can expect,” was her 
comment. 

There was a finality to this that was uncanny. 
Janice became sure, right then and there, that Mrs. 
Bridget Burns would never clear up the wreck 
Olga Cedarstrom had made of the back kitchen. The 
girl wished with all her heart that she had boxed 
Arlo Junior’s ears harder. 

Miss Peckham, her sharp chin hung upon the top 
rail of the boundary fence, called Janice just before 
daddy came home. As the Day house was on the 
comer of Love Street, Miss Peckham was the near- 
est neighbor. 

She was a weazened little woman, with very sharp 
black eyes, who had assumed the censorship of the 
neighborhood years before. Living alone with her 
cats and Ambrose, her parrot. Miss Peckham rigidly 
adhered to the harshest precepts of spinsterhood. 


42 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


Even Janice could understand that Miss Peckham 
considered daddy not at all fit to bring up, or have 
the sole care of, a daughter, and that Mr. Broxton 
Day was not to be altogether trusted. 

Miss Peckham's nature overflowed with tender- 
ness toward animals, and it was regarding one of her 
pets she now called to Janice about. 

‘You haven’t seen him, have you, Janice? You 
haven’t seen my Sam?” 

‘Your Sam?” murmured Janice, rather non- 
plussed for the moment. “You don’t mean the dog 
you bought of the butcher, do you, Miss Peckham?” 

“No, indeed. That’s Cicero. But Sam, the cat. 
He’s got black and yellow on him, Janice. You’ve 
seen him, I know.” 

And suddenly Janice remembered that she had 
^cn him. He had been one of those cats tolled into 
the back kitchen by Arlo Junior. Worse than all, 
Sam was the cat Olga Cedarstrom had hurt with a 
lump of coal. She remembered that he was the last 
to escape when she opened the kitchen door, drag- 
ging his injured leg behind him. 

How could Janice tell her of this awful thing that 
had happened to Sam? The poor cat had probably 
dragged himself of? into some secret place to lick his 
wounds — to die, perhaps. 

“You’ve seen him! I know you have, Janice 
Day,” cried the shrewd maiden lady. “What have 
you done to poor Sam?” 


More Troubles Than One 43 

*Why, Miss Peckham ! I haven't done a thing to 
him,” declared Janice 

Miss Peckham, however, had read the girl's face 
aright She saw that Janice knew something about 
the missing cat. 

'‘You tell me what you know!" she stormed, her 
clawlike hands shaking the top rail of the fence. "I 
wouldn't trust none of you young ones in this neigh- 
borhood. You are always up to some capers." 

'But really, honestly, I haven't done a thing to 
your Sam," Janice said, shrinking from telling all 
she knew about the injured animal. 

"You know where he is !" Miss Peckham accused. 

"Oh, I don't, either." 

"When did you see him last?" probed the other, 
sharply. 

"This — ^this morning." 

"What time this morning?'’ 

"Before breakfast. Early," gasped Janice, won- 
dering what she would say next. 

"Humph! Something funny about the way you 
answer," said the suspicious spinster. "Where was 
Sam when you saw him that early ?" 

"Running across our back yard," Janice gasped, 
telling the exact truth — ^but no more. 

"Ha!" exploded the other, "What made him 
run ?” 

After all, Janice Day did not want to "tell on" 
Arlo Junior. Arlo Junior was the child of all others 


44 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker' 

in the neighborhood whom Miss Peckham carried 
on guerrilla warfare with. She had threatened to 
go to the police station and have Arlo Junior locked 
up the very next time he crossed her path in a mis- 
chievous way. 

Janice knew that Miss Peckham was a very active 
member of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty 
to Animals, and if she knew that Arlo Junior had 
been in any way connected with Sam's injury, she 
would be all the more bitter toward the young ras- 
cal. 

And really, after all, it was Olga Cedarstrom who 
had hurt the cat. But to tell Miss Peckham that, 
and how it all came about, would do little to pacify 
the spinster. So Janice kept silent. It seemed to her 
that she had gone about as far in the path of deceit 
as she could go. 

‘You saw him running; what made him run?” 
repeated Miss Peckham. 

“He — he was frightened, I guess. Miss Peckham. 
There were other cats. It was early this morning 
before anybody else was up around here. The cats 
all ran out of our yard.” 

“And I warrant you'd done something to make 
’em run,” declared the tart-tongued neighbor. “Oh, 
I know all you young ones around here. You ain’t 
no better than the rest of ’em, Janice Day.” 

“Oh, Miss Peckham !” murmured the girl. 

“And if I find out that you done something ouK 


More iTroublea BChan One 45 

rageous to those cats — ^to my Sam, ’specially — bit’ll 
be the sorriest day of your life. Now, you see if 
’tisn’t!” 

She turned and flounced into her house. Janice 
came slowly back to the kitchen door where she 
found the new houseworker frankly listening. 

*'Guess she’s a sharper, ain’t she?” squeaked the 
woman. ‘Well, I won’t tell her ’bout the cats in the 
back kitchen. But o’ course, if folks will hire them 
Swedes—” 


CHAPTER K 


FATHER AND DAUGHTER 

It did seem to Janice Day at this time as though 
trouble after trouble was being heaped upon her 
young shoulders. Miss Peddiam and her search 
for her Sam was, of course, a small matter com- 
pared to the loss of the treasure-box and the heir- 
iooms in it. 

Janice waited eagerly for daddy to come home 
and report on this matter; and his report, when he 
did come, sunk Janice’s heart fathoms deep in an 
ocean of despair. 

''Oh, Daddy, it can’t be!” she cried, sobbing 
against his coat sleeve in the hall. "Olga wouldn’t 
be so wicked ! How could she ?” 

"It is pretty sure that she has left town and has 
left no address behind her. It looks as though she 
had deliberately tried to efface herself from the 
community,” said Mr. Broxton Day slowly. "Are 
you sure, Janice, that the box cannot be found?” 

"Oh, Daddy! I’ve looked everywhere. Dear 
mamma’s picture that I loved so much! And her 
diary!” 


46 


Father and Daughter 


47 


‘‘More than that, daughter, more than that,” said 
her father, his own voice breaking. “I should have 
been more careful about allowing you to take the 
box. There was something else ” 

“Oh, Daddy! what? I didn’t know there was a 
secret compartment in the treasure-box,” she added 
wonderingly. 

“You would scarcely understand, my dear,” he 
told her with a heavy sigh. “It was but a shallow 
place. There were letters in it — ^letters which I 
treasured above everything else in the box. Letters 
your mamma wrote me before you were born, when 
I was away from home and she thought she might 
never see me again. We were young, then, my 
dear; and we loved each other very much.” 

His voice trailed away into silence. The girl, 
young as she was, was awed by his grief. She sud- 
denly realized that her own sorrow over the lost 
treasure-box was shallow indeed beside her father’s 
despair. 

It was some time later that she told him just how 
well she had searched for the missing box. She 
narrated, too, all the particulars of the early morn- 
ing cat episode and the trouble brought about by 
the mischief-loving Arlo Junior, which she had 
been unable to tell him earlier in the day. 

“It would seem, then,” Mr. Day observed, not 
unamused by the account of the neighbors’ boy’s 
practical joke, “that if Olga took the box it was on 


^8 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


the spur of the moment. She certainly had not 
planned to leave us, but lost her temper and went 
because she was in a rage.” 

‘'Yes, sir. I suppose so,” admitted Janice. “And 
she was mad at me, too. I could see she thought I 
had shut the cats in the back kitchen.” 

“Yet Olga^s going,” said Mr. Broxton Day, still 
thoughtfully, “was skillfully planned — ^just as 
though she had everything arranged for it before the 
row this morning. Don^t just understand that.” 

“Oh, Daddy ! you don’t suppose Olga was one of 
those awful crooks we read of in the papers?” 

Mr. Broxton threw back his head and laughed in 
his very heartiest fashion. 

“Whatever else she was,” he said, finally, “I don’t 
think she was a lady buccaneer. Olga Cedarstrom 
appeared to be almost as stupid a person as I ever 
saw. But she was bad tempered — ^ilo doubt of that.” 

“Yes, Daddy, her disposition was not very sweet,” 
admitted Janice, with a sigh. 

“But it looks queer,” her father pursued. “Send- 
ing for an out-of-town taxi, and all. I say, daugh- 
ter! which way did it drive?” 

“The taxicab?” 

“Yes.” 

“Toward town. Daddy. RigliJ along Enight 
Street.” 

“Humph! might have gone right througn town 
and taken the Napsburg pike. Yet, they could have 


Father and Daughter 


A9 


turned off at Joyce Street and got into the Dover 
pike. Or gone to Clewitt, or Preston. Oh, well,*' 
finished Broxton Day, ‘"that cab could have come 
from, and returned to, any one of a dozen places 
within a few miles of Greensboro." 

“But how do you know she was not driven right 
to the railroad station, as long as you are sure she 
did not go to Pickletown ?" 

“I found out," said Mr. Day, quietly, “that there 
isn't a Swede in town who drives a taxi. And you 
say the driver was a Swede, and that it was a regu- 
lar taxicab." 

“Oh, yes, Daddy. He was one of her own kind 
of folks. I heard them talking together when he 
went up for her trunk. I wish I had taken the num- 
ber of that cab !" cried Janice woefully. 

“Never mind. Don't blame yourself too harshly, 
girly.” 

“But I do blame myself. Daddy," she cried, wip- 
ing her eyes. ""Those dear pictures and the diary! 
And most of all mother's miniature ! Why, Daddy 
Day ! I'd give a million dollars rather than have lost 
the treasure-box." 

""No use crying over the spilled milk," he said, re- 
flectively. ""It does seem to me as though Olga was 
not Just the sort of person who would steal — I say I 
You told me she telephoned for the taxi?" 

""Yes. At least, she telephoned and talked to 
somebody over the ’phone in Swedish." 


50 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

“You don't say !" repeated Mr. Day thoughtfully, 
using a Yankeeism that betrayed his birthplace if 
nothing else did, although he had long since come 
from New England to the Middle West. “Then in 
all probability she telephoned to a friend, and the 
friend sent the taxicab. I wonder if that Willie 
Sangreen is in this ? 

“I tell you !" he exclaimed finally. *Tn the morn- 
ing I will go and see the superintendent of our tele- 
phone exchange personally. Perhaps, when I 
explain the case, he will tell me the number Olga 
called up." 

“Oh, Daddy ! can you do that ?" 

“There is a record made of every call," he told 
her. “Now don't worry more than you can help, 
Janice. We'll do something about it. Never fear." 

His encouraging “do something" was bound to 
cheer his little daughter. She hurried away to see 
if dinner was not ready, and caught Delia frankly 
listening at the door. 

“Why, Delia, why didn't you knock or speak?" 
Janice asked. 

But Delia was absolutely unruffled. She drawled: 

“I didn't know but you wanted to talk to your 
paw some more, and the dinner could wait." 

When, a little later, they were seated at table 
and Delia appeared with the first hot dishes, it must 
be confessed that her appearance somewhat startled 
Mr. Broxton Day. 


Father and Daughter 


5i 


Their anxiety about the lost treasure-box had pre- 
cluded his having asked any questions regarding the 
new houseworker; her appearance was as startling 
as though she had come straight from a sideshow. 

Janice put her napkin to her lips to hide their 
trembling. But her eyes danced. Daddy’s amaze- 
ment was quickly smothered. He was silent, how- 
ever, until Delia was out of the room again. 

'What do you think of her, Daddy?” giggled the 
little girl. 

'T certainly did not see her before hiring her. 
In fact, I did my business over the ’phone with the 
manager of the intelligence office. I gathered from 
him that she was a woman of middle age, and "set- 
led,” whatever that may mean. If it means that she 

can work and stay settled here But what a 

queer looking creature! How does she seem to 
take hold, Janice? Does she seem intelligent?” 

"I haven’t made up my mind yet,” murmured his 
little daughter. "She doesn’t look as though she 
knew anything at all. But maybe she does. You 
said yourself that we couldn’t have anybody worse 
than Olga.” 

"I don’t know about that,” he retorted. "I may 
have to take that back. Sh ! Here she comes again.” 

Aside from the fact that she served cold plates 
for the roast and vegetables, and hot ones for the 
salad ; that from her great height she was almost cer- 
tain to spill food on the table before she got a dish 


52 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

set down before them; and that she kept bouncing in 
and out of the dining room to ask them if they were 
ready for dessert; she managed to get through the 
meal without making Mr. Day and Janice any great 
discomfort. 

In the living room, later, when Mr. Day was in 
his comfortable chair and Janice had her school 
books spread out upon the table under the reading 
lamp, the father said softly: 

‘Well, my dear, it is not the sort of life I hoped 
we would lead when we built this house. Your dear 
mother was such a wonderful housekeeper, and 
could manage so well. I never had a thought or a 
care about the housekeeping affairs. But now 

“I know. Daddy,” broke in Janice earnestly. “If 
only I didn't have to go to school !” 

“That is something that cannot even be dis- 
cussed,” he rejoined, smiling at her gravely. “As 
I told you last night, my dear, what your mother 
and I planned regarding your education must be 
carried through if possible.” 

“But college is a long way ahead,” said Janice 
wistfully. “And meanwhile you are not comfortable 
and the house is going to rack and ruin, just as Miss 
Peckham says.” 

“Did the old girl say that?” he wanted to know, 
with rather a rueful smile on his lips. 

Wes. She was in here the other day and she is 
so nosey. She was bound to go all through the 


Father and Daughter Sj 

house, although I did not want her to. I know ifj 
doesn’t look spick and span as it should 

“That is not your fault, Janice,” her father said 
quickly. “Don’t let it worry you. You must stick tQ 
your books. And if we can get nobody better than 
this woman — or Olga — to help, we must expect 
things to be in rather bad shape about the house. 

“I suppose there are good housekeepers for hire — 
somewhere. They certainly do not seem to be In 
Greensboro. And, then, I cannot afford to pay a 
very high wage. You see, my dear, we are not 
rich.” 

“No, Daddy,” Janice agreed. “I quite know that* 
But we have enough, and to spare, I am sure.” 

“So far we have managed to pull along,” he sald^ 
smiling at her quizzically. “And perhaps we shall 
be even better off in time. I am up to my neck, as the 
boys say, in an investment in Mexican mines. I was 
able to get Into it before your dear mother died, and 
she quite approved. Several Greensboro men have 
invested in the same string of mines and there is ore 
being got out — ore of good quality. 

“But thus far there have been no dividends. 
Rather, we have had to put In more money for im- 
provements. But when once we get started product 
ing, you and I may have something like riches.” 

“Oh, won’t that be nice. Daddy !” she exclaimed, 
wide-eyed and red-cheeked In her excitement. “To 
be really rich !” 


54 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


"Well, we shall be able to engage somebody better 
fitted perhaps for the position of housekeeper,” 
sighed Mr. Day, turning to his newspaper again, 

""That's all right. Daddy,” she said. ""But mean- 
while I am going to do all I can to make things go 
smoother. Just as you said last night, it can only be 
brought about by somebody’s doing something. I’ll 
do something, you see if I don’t.” 

She made this declaration cheerfully. But when 
she closed her books, kissed daddy, and went up to 
bed, her countenance was overcast with an expres- 
sion far from cheerful. 

Only the evening before she had sat here and 
looked her treasures over. The diary which mother 
had kept when she was a little girl — all the innocent 
little secrets she had written on the pages which 
Janice so delighted to read! 

And the lovely miniature, with mother in the very 
dress she wore the evening she and Broxton Day 
were betrothed. Janice knew all about that. Her 
mother had talked freely of her courtship and of 
what a splendid young man daddy had appeared to 
be in her eyes. 

Her mother’s frequently expressed admiration 
for the young man who came from New England 
to win his fortune in the Middle West was doubtless 
the foundation of Janice Day’s unusual fondness for 
her father. 

That by her carelessness she should have brought 


Father and Daughter, 


55 


about the loss of the treasure-box and those things 
which both she and daddy considered of such per- 
sonal value, was the thought that weighed most 
heavily on the girl's heart. 

Without turning on her light, she went to the 
window and looked out into the soft spring dark- 
ness! Daddy's letters! Mother's miniature! The 
treasured old diary that Janice so loved! 

Her troubled little heart overflowed. She flung 
herself down with her face hidden in her arms fold- 
ed upon the window sill, while ungovernable sobs 
shook her body. 

The loss of the treasure-box was a disaster fon 
which she could not easily forgive herself. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE CARRINGFORDS 

Janice Day was a friendly little soul; but she 
was not a girl who made those close friendships that 
so many girls make during their schooldays. There 
was no one girl from whom she was almost insep- 
arable. 

Janice was just as good friends with Amy Car- 
ringford as she was with Stella Latham ; only Amy 
had been attending the grammar school a much 
shorter time than had the farmer’s daughter. 

Now circumstances attending Stella’s proposed 
birthday party caused Janice to become much better 
acquainted with Amy Carringford. In seeking to 
do something for Stella, Janice was determined to 
do something for Amy. 

The Carringford family had taken up their resi- 
dence during the winter in Mullen Lane; and it 
must be confessed that Mullen Lane was not consid- 
ered an aristocratic part of the town. Of course, 
poor people have to live where living is cheap; but 
it was said that Mrs. Carringford, who was a 
widow, had bought the little cottage — ^not much bet 


The Carringfords 57 

ter than a hut — in which she and her little family- 
had taken up their dwelling. 

Why people like the Carringfords, manifestly well 
bred and intelligent, had chosen Mullen Lane to live 
in puzzled not only the busybodies, like Miss Peck- 
ham, of this part of Greensboro, but amazed other 
people as well. 

Wherever Mrs. Carringford appeared — at church, 
or in the neighborhood stores on Knight and Cass- 
andra Streets — people saw that she was a well bred 
woman, though plainly, even shabbily, dressed. 

There were several children besides Amy and the 
unfortunately named Gumswith, and they dressed 
poorly, too. But even if Gummy’s trousers were 
patched at the knees, as Stella Latham had pointed 
out, they were patched neatly, and his linen was 
fresh. 

Of course, nobody called on Mrs. Carringford; 
at least, almost nobody. The rickety little cottage 
in Mullen Lane did not attract callers by its out- 
ward appearance, that was sure. That it was a shel- 
ter for a family that had been sorely tried by fate, 
none of the neighbors knew. 

It was Janice Day, when she made a frank attempt 
to know Amy Carringford better, who began first to 
learn particulars about the Carringford family. 
There was not much queer or mysterious about 
them ; merely they were people who failed to adver- 
tise their private affairs to the community at large. 


58 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


Janice had gained Stella Latham’s promise that 
she would not tell the secret of the party dress, if 
Amy should consent to borrow it, before she sounded 
Amy as to whether she was going to accept the invi- 
tation to the party or not. According to Stella, who 
was really very silly about such things, the birth- 
day party was to be a very ‘'dressy” affair. Stella 
talked about this phase of it in season and out. 

First of all, Janice demanded that one of the 
highly ornate invitations Stella’s mother had had 
printed in the Greensboro Bugle printing office 
should be sent to Amy. There should be no hedg- 
ing, Janice determined, after that. Amy was to be 
asked like the other girls and boys of their grade. 

"But if she hasn’t got a decent dress?” murmured 
Stella, when she was mailing the invitation to Amy. 

"I told you I’d see that she did have a party 
dress,” Janice said sharply. "I can’t agree to find 
whole trousers for Gummy,” and she giggled; "so 
you needn’t invite him if you don’t want to. But 
Amy will be all right.” 

"Maybe she will be too proud to wear your dress, 
Janice Day!” exclaimed Stella. 

"Then she won’t come,” rejoined Janice. "But 
you are not to tell a soul that the dress is mine, if 
she does wear it.” 

"We-ell,” sighed Stella, somewhat relieved. 

The farmer’s daughter knew that there would be 
much comment if she left Amy off the invitation list. 


The Carringfords 


59 


She was glad to leave the matter in Janice Day’s 
hands. And she did not remark again, at least, not 
openly, upon Janice being ‘‘so sly.” 

Without being at all sly, Janice did go about do- 
ing something for Amy Carringford with consider- 
able shrewdness. She had never walked home with 
Amy from school. She did not like the purlieus of 
Mullen Lane. But this afternoon she attached her- 
self to Amy with all the power of adherence of a 
mollusk, and they were chattering too fast to stop 
abruptly when they came to the corner of Knight 
Street, where usually Janice turned off. 

Mullen Lane touched Love Street at its upper end, 
so Janice could go all the way to the Carringford 
house without going much out of her way. She 
went on with Amy, swinging her books ; and at first 
Amy did not seem to notice that Janice was keeping 
with her right into the muddy, littered lane on which 
she lived. 

“Why, Janice!” said Amy, finally, “you are away 
out of your way.” 

“Oh, I can go up the lane to Love Street,” 
returned Janice carelessly, and just as though she 
were used to doing that. 

Amy, who was a pretty, blonde girl, gazed at her 
companion rather curiously; but Janice was quite 
calm. 

“That is the house where I live,” said Amy, in a 
changed tone, as they came in sight of the cottage. 


6o Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


"'Oh, yes,” replied Janice. 

Aside from the fact that the house needed paint 
and new window shutters, and a new roof, and new 
planks for the piazza, and numerous other things, 
it was not such a bad looking house. Janice noticed 
something at first glance: It was only things that 
poor people could not get or that a boy could not 
tinker that was needed about the Carringford house 
to make it neat and comfortable. 

The fences were on the line, had been braced, and 
there were no pickets missing. The gates hung true. 
The walks were neatly kept and there were brilliant 
flower beds in front, for flower seeds cost little. 
What the Carringfords could do to make the place 
homelike without spending money, had certainly 
been done. 

"It’s an awful place to live,” ventured Amy, still 
gazing sidewise at Janice. 

"Oh,” said the latter brightly, "you don’t mean 
that ! You are all together and are all well.” 

"Yes, there are a lot of us.” And Amy said it 
with a sigh. "It seems as though there were an 
awful lot of children, now that father’s dead.” 

"Did you lose your father recently — ^just as I did 
my mother?” asked Janice softly. 

"Year and a half ago. That is why we came here. 
There was some Insurance money. Somebody per- 
suaded mother to buy a home for us with it. I don’t 
know whether it was good advice or not; but she 


The Carringfords 


6i 


bought this place because it was cheap. And she 
could not pay for it all, at that ; so I don't know but 
we're likely to lose the money she put into it, and 
the old shack, too." 

Amy spoke rather bitterly. Janice, with natural 
tact, thought this was no time to probe deeper into 
the financial affairs of the Carringfords. She saw 
Gummy, who was a year older than Amy, in the 
yard. He had got home from school first, and he 
stared when he saw Janice. 

‘Hullo, Gummy !" the latter called to the boy with 
the patched trousers. “What are you doing there? 
Are you laying sod for a border to that garden- 
bed?" 

“No. I'm trimming an opera cloak with green 
ermine," said the boy, but grinning. “What are 
you doing around here in Dirty-face Lane?" 

“Oh, Gummy !" exclaimed Amy. 

“What a name to call the street!" objected Jan- 
ice. 

“Well, that's what it is," returned the boy, con- 
tinuing to pound the sod into place. “Nobody in 
this street ever washes his face." 

“Why Gummy Carringford !" exclaimed his sis- 
ter again. 

“I'm sure Amy washes her face whether you do 
or not," chuckled Janice. 

“Oh, me !" sniffed the boy, but his eyes still twin- 
kling. “I'm always ‘gummy' I" 


62 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

Janice’s laughter was a silver peal that brought 
three or four younger Carringfords, including the 
twins, to the side door. They peered out at their 
sister and the girl with her, but were bashful. 

‘What a jolly lot of little ones!” sighed Janice. 
“You know, Amy, I’m all alone. I haven’t any 
brother or sister.” 

“Don’t you want to adopt me?” asked Gummy, 
who overheard her. 

“I certainly would have to change your name,” 
declared Janice. 

“No,” and he shook his head, his freckled face 
becoming grave. “Got to stick to the old name — 
just like gum sticks.” 

“Oh, my dear, is that you?” cried Mrs. Carring- 
ford, coming to the door, her brown face flushing 
pink. “And one of your schoolmates ?” 

She came out on the porch. She had a very pleas- 
ant smile, Janice thought, and her brown eyes were 
j oright as a woodpecker’s. 

“This is Janice Day. She’s in my class. Mother,” 
said Amy, rather hesitatingly, it must be confessed. 

“Yes, I know her name,” said Mrs. Carringford, 
and now Janice was near enough to take the hand 
of Amy’s mother. “How do you do, my dear? I 
have seen you before. I am always glad to meet 
Amy’s school friends.” 

Had it not been for the warmth of the good 
woman s greeting Janice would have felt that she 


The Carringfords 


63 


was unwelcome at the little cottage on Mullen Lane. 
Amy seemed to hang back, and not invite her school- 
mate into the house. 

‘‘Here is something the postman brought you, 
Amy,” her mother went on briskly. 

She reached inside the door to a shelf and brought 
forth an object that Janice recognized. It was the 
big white envelope containing the invitation to 
Stella Latham's party. 

“Hi ! I know what that is,” cried Gummy, rising 
to look at the envelope. “Lots of the fellows got 
’em. That Latham girl that lives out on the Dover 
pike is going to have a party. Crickey! I didn't 
suppose she would invite us.” 

“She hasn't invited you I guess,” his mother told 
him. “It is addressed to your sister.” 

“OhIIsee.” 

Amy had flushed brightly, and her eyes sparkled. 
She was tearing open the envelope eagerly. 

“Oh !” she sighed, “I didn’t expect this. Did you 
get yours, Janice?'’ 

“Yes, Stella asked me. But she didn’t send out 
all the invitations at once,” said Janice slowly. 
*‘You'll go of course, won’t you ?” 

‘my 

Then suddenly Amy’s voice stopped. She looked 
at her mother. The glow went out of her face. 
She let one of the smaller children take the invita* 
tion out of her hand. 


64 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


don’t know,” she said slowly. 'Til have to 
see. 

"Won’t you come in, Janice?” asked Mrs. Car- 
ringford, seeking to cover her daughter’s embar- 
rassment. 

"I will for a minute, thank you,” was Janice 
Day’s smiling reply. "You know, I like Amy, Mrs. 
Carringford, and I have never been to her house 
before, and she has never been to mine.” 

Her speech helped to cover her friend’s hesita- 
tion. Amy tripped in behind Janice and suddenly 
gave her a hearty squeeze. 

"She’s an awfully nice girl, Mumsy!” she said 
to her mother. 

Janice laughed. But her bright eyes were taking 
in much besides the smiling expression on her 
friends’ faces. The Carringford kitchen was like 
wax. Mrs. Carringford had been washing in one 
corner of the room, and there was a boiler drying 
behind the stove. But there was nothing sloppy 
or sudsy about the room. The woman had whisked 
off the big apron she had worn when Janice entered, 
and now the latter saw that her work dress was 
spotless. 

"Oh, dear me!” thought Janice, "how nice it 
would be if our kitchen — and our whole house — 
were like this. How delighted daddy would be.” 

But there was something else she did not at first 
see. She had to get acquainted with all the younger 


The Carringfords 


65 


Carringfords, She must talk with Mrs. Carring- 
ford. Gummy came in after washing his hands and 
rubbing his shoes clean on the doormat to talk to 
the caller. Then Amy carried Janice off upstairs 
to her own tiny room under the eaves. 

There was no carpet on the stairs. The matting 
on the floor of Amy^s room was much worn. There 
was nothing really pretty in the room. Janice sud- 
denly realized that this spelled ‘‘poverty.’^ 

Yet it was cheerful and speckless, and there were 
pictures of a kind, and little home-made ornaments 
and a few books. 

The window curtains were of the cheapest, but 
they were looped back gracefully. There was a 
workbox and stand that Gummy had made for Amy, 
for the brother was handy with tools. 

Altogether there was something about the room, 
and about the ugly little house as well, that Janice 
Day realized she did not have at home. She had 
had it once ; but it was not present now in the Day 
house. In the Carringford dwelling the magic wand 
of a true homemaker had touched it all. 

The two girls chatted for almost an hour. It was 
mostly about school matters and their friends and the 
teachers. Amy talked, too, about friends in Naps- 
burg, where the Carringfords had lived before mov- 
ing to Greensboro. Janice was adroit in keeping the 
conversation on rather general topics, and did not 
allow the question of Stella's party to come to the 


66 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


fore and never once did she speak of what any of the 
girls would wear on that occasion. 

The time to leave came, and then Janice felt she 
should enter the wedge which would afterwards gain 
for her the desired end. 

“You’ll go to Stella’s party, won’t you?” asked 
Janice as she prepared to go home. 

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ll see, ” Amy hurriedly 
said. 

“Of course you will go,” Janice declared firmly. 
“I want you to go with me. I sha’n’t feel like going 
at all if you stay away, Amy.” 

They kissed each other on the stairway, and then 
Janice ran home, swinging her books. She thought 
the Carringfords were very pleasant people. But 
there were several mysteries about them. First of 
all she wanted to know how Gummy came to have 
such an awful, awful name ! 


CHAPTER iVII 


ARLO JUNIOR AGAIN 

lJusT as Janice was running in at the Love Street 
gate she was halted by Arlo Junior. Junior kept 
well out of the way at first, but his tone was con- 
fidential as well as ameliorating. 

^'Aw, I say, Janice!” he begged, '‘you aln^t mad 
at me, are you ?” 

'Why shouldn’t I be?” she demanded, her face 
Hushing and the hazel eyes sparking in an indignant 
way. 

'Well, I mean — ^Well, I hope you ain’t,” stam- 
mered Arlo Junior, unable entirely to smother a 
grin, and yet plainly anxious to pacify Janice. “You 
see, Janice, my mother was coming up from down- 
town and she saw you whacking me the other day.” 
'^Oh!” 

'Y'es, she saw you,” said Junior, nodding. “So I 
had to tell her something of what made you do it.” 

'Indeed?” demanded Janice scornfully. “And 
what did you tell her?” 

'1 told her about the cats. Anyway, I told her 
•I left your back kitchen door open and that the 


67 


68 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

cats got in there and fought. Oh, Je-mi-ma, how 
they did fight! didn’t they? I heard ’em after I got 
back into the house that morning,” and Junior 
began to giggle. 

‘They didn’t fight,” said Janice shortly. “What 
you heard was Olga pitching coal at ’em. And 
then she up and left us. We had to get another 
girl. And this new girl won’t clean up the mess in 
the back kitchen. That’s what you did Arlo Weeks 
and I’ve got to clean up that room because of you.” 

“Oh, Je-mi-ma!” gasped Junior, giggling no more 
now. “Is that how Miss Peckham’s Sam-cat got 
hurt?” 

“What do you know about that?” demanded Jan- 
ice quickly. 

“Miss Peckham’s been all over the neighborhood 
talking about it. She found the cat with a broken 
leg. Got a veterinary. Put it in a plaster cast. 
Did you ever ?” 

“Well!” murmured Janice. 

“I tell you what; don’t let’s say anything about 
it,” begged Junior eagerly. “I tell you what I’ll 
do. I’ll come over Saturday and help you clean up 
all the mess the cats and the girl made. But don’t 
say a word.” 

“Well,” said Janice again. 

“Now you promise, Janice,” wheedled Junior. 
“If my mother learns all about the cat business, 
there will be a big row. And all I did — really — 


Arlo Junior Again 69 

was to open that back kitchen door and then shut it 
again after the cats got inside/' 

‘They would never have gone in if you hadn't 
thrown the catnip in there/' declared Janice warmly. 
“You know that very well, Junior/' 

“Well, you won't say anything about it, will you, 
Janice, if I come and clean up the kitchen?" 

“Well," said Janice for a third time, “let's see you 
do it. I won't promise until the kitchen is cleaned." 

But Arlo Junior went off with a grin on his face. 
He knew Janice would not tell if he kept his share 
of the agreement. 

Janice was anxious to know how Delia, the new 
girl, was getting on with the housework. There 
was a strong smell of scorching vegetables the mo- 
ment Janice opened the back door. The kitchen was 
empty, but the pots on the stove foretold the fact that 
dinner was in preparation at least two hours before 
it was necessary. 

And the vegetables! Janice ran to save them. 
There was a roaring fire under them ; but it was the 
water that had boiled over, after all. Delia knew 
nothing, it was evident, about simmering vegetables. 
Boiling them furiously was her way. 

“Oh, dear," sighed the girl, “I wonder if anything 
else can happen to the Days ! There must be some- 
thing the matter with me or some one would some 
time do something right in this house. Daddy's din- 
ner will not be fit to eat. 


J70 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


‘^That book on dietary that I got out of the library 
and tried to read said that good cooking was most 
important. I don’t know, for I guess I didn’t un- 
derstand much of the book — ^not even of that part 
I read — but I do know that a well-cooked meal 
tastes better than a dried-out one. Oh, dear !” 

Janice shoved the pots back on the stove, and shut 
off the drafts so that the fire would die down. She 
wondered where Delia could be. She had not seen 
her outside the house. She ran up the back stairs 
and looked in the girl’s room before she went to her 
own. 

Delia was not upstairs. Janice could not see that 
much had been done in the way of housework — ^at 
least on the upper floor^ Then, suddenly, she dis- 
covered where the new girl was. 

From the living room came the loud drumming of 
the player piano. The instrument had not been 
much in use since the death of Janice’s mother. 
Somehow it seemed to both Janice and daddy that 
they did not care to hear the piano that mother 
played so frequently for them in the evening. 

But the instrument was in use now — ^no mis- 
taking it. There are different ways of playing a 
mechanical piano. Delia’s way was to get all the 
noise out of it that was possible. 

Janice ran downstairs in some vexation. There 
was no particular crime in the new girl’s using the 
instrument, even without asking permission. Yet 


Arlo Junior Again 


71 


when there was so much to do about the house and, 
as she saw plainly, there had been so little done, 
Janice was vexed enough to give Delia a good talk- 
ing to. 

And then she hesitated with her hand on the 
knob of the living-room door, ti she got Delia 
angry the woman might leave as abruptly as Olga 
Cedarstrom had left. It was a thought suggesting 
tragedy. Janice waited to calm herself while the 
new girl pumped away on the piano in a perfect 
anvil chorus. 

Janice opened the door. By the nurriber of rolls 
spread out on the top of the piano it was plain that 
Delia had played more music than she had done 
housework. The Garibaldi March came to a noisy 
conclusion.’’ 

'"Oh, my!” sighed Delia, in her squeaky voice, 
^'ain’t that wonderful?” 

'T should say it was,” Janice said quickly. ‘Won- 
derful, indeed!” 

“Oh!” shrieked Delia, flopping around on the 
bench and glaring at Janice, one hand clutching 
at her bosom. “You scare’t me.” 

“I think you ought to be scared. Your vege- 
tables were boiling over, Delia.” 

“Oh, you came in so sudden!” gasped the big 
woman. “I — I’ve got a weak heart. You oughtn’t 
to scare me so. I can see mebbe that Swede girl 
had a hard time here. There is more than cats is 


72 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


the matter. And that woman next door has been 
around to find out how her cat’s leg come broke.” 

If a fluffy little kitten, chasing a ball of yarn, had 
suddenly turned around and attacked Janice, tooth 
and nail, the girl would have been no more sur- 
prised. 

"Why, Delia, I am sorry if I frightened you,” 
Janice said. ""But, you know, this is not your part 
of the house ; and having put on the vegetables, even 
if it is too early, I should think you would remain in 
the kitchen and watch the pots.” 

The giantess arose and wiped an eye. She sniv- 
eled into the corner of her apron. 

""Well, I didn’t expect to be bossed by a child,'’ 
she squeaked, ""when I came to work here. I don’t 
like it.” 

She flounced out of the room, leaving the piano 
open and the rolls strewn about. 

""Oh, dear me! Now I have done it!” groaned 
Janice Day. ""What will daddy say if I have got 
Delia mad, and she goes ? It is just awful 

It really did seem to be a tragic situation. Janice 
shook her head and looked around the room. Every- 
thing was just as it had been the night before 
when they went to bed, save the opened music cabi- 
net and littered piano. 

There were daddy’s cigar ashes in the tray ; a cup 
with tea grounds in it as he had left it by his elbow. 
The smoking stand was not tidied nor the table. 



Delia had played more music than she had done 
housework. 






Arlo Junior Again 73 

There was dust on everything, and a litter of torn 
papers on the rug. 

Why had Delia not cleaned up the room, if she 
had so much time to play the piano ? 

*T suppose if I ask her why she did not sweep 
and dust in here she will tell me that she forgot 
whether I said to use the blue dustcloth or the 
pink,” groaned Janice. 

One girl they had had actually gave that excuse 
as logical when the work was neglected. There 
was nothing laughable in this situation — ^nothing at 
all! 

‘'Oh, if I could only do something myself,” mur- 
mured the young girl. 

After what had occurred she thought it best to 
say nothing more to Delia at the time. She hated 
to bother daddy again; but she wondered what he 
would do if he had to confront such circumstances 
at the bank. 

“Of course, men’s work is awfully important,” 
Janice sighed; “but what would daddy do if con- 
fronted by these little annoying things that seem to 
be connected with the housework?” 

There were a dozen things Janice would have 
preferred to do right now. But she could not have 
daddy come home and see such a looking living- 
room. She put on apron and cap and went to work 
immediately to do what Delia should have done 
earlier in the day. 


74 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

In an hour or so the room was swept, dusted, 
and well aired. She had returned the music rolls to 
the cabinet and closed the piano. She wished there 
was a key to it so that Delia could not get at it 
again, for if the new girl was musically inclined 
Janice foresaw little housework done while she was 
at school and daddy was at work. 

Then Janice ventured into the kitchen. Delia 
was not there. The vegetables were already cooked 
and were in the warmer where they would gradually 
become dried out. Janice had done the marketing 
on her way to school that morning, and had sent 
home a steak. The steak was already cooked and 
was on a platter, likewise in the warming oven. 
And it was yet an hour to dinner time. 

Janice opened the door to the stairway. There 
was no sound from that part of the house. She 
went to the back door then, and there was Delia 
talking earnestly with Miss Peckham over the 
boundary fence. 

The fact smote Janice like a physical blow. She 
remembered what Arlo Junior had said about the 
cat. Miss Peckham had found the poor creature 
and had sent for the veterinary doctor to treat 
him. 

What Janice had already admitted regarding the 
cat, and what Delia might tell Miss Peckham, would 
breed thouble just as sure as the world! What 
should se do ? 


Arlo Junior Again 


75 


She might have been unwise enough to have run 
out and interfered in the back-fence conference. 
But just then she heard daddy's key in the front 
door and she ran to meet him. 

‘^Oh, Daddy! did you find out anything more 
about Olga and where she went?" the young girl 
cried as soon as she saw Broxton Day. 

guess I have found nothing of importance," 
said her father, shaking his head gravely. 

*'Oh, my dear! Nothing?" 

'^Nothing that explains where the treasure-box 
went to, Janice," he said. ‘‘Nor much that explains 
any other part of the mystery." 

“But the telephone number? Who did she call 
up?" 

“Yes, I found out about that," he admitted, hang- 
ing up his coat and hat. “She called the public 
booths in the railroad station. There was some- 
body waiting there to answer her. And who do you 
suppose it was ?" 

“I couldn't guess, Daddy." 

“Willie Sangreen. He is the young man who is 
checker at the pickle works, and who I told you was 
Olga's steady company. He has gone away, and 
nobody seems to know where." 

“They have gone away together!" cried Janice, 
in despair. 

“She knew where he was going to be at that hour, 
sure enough; she would probably have called him 


76 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

at the telephone in the railroad station, anyway. 
And the catastrophe, he smiled a little, ‘'and Olga's 
getting so angry, may have changed their plans 
completely. Maybe he did meet her somewhere." 

“Oh, Daddy ! what kind of a looking man is Wil- 
lie Sangreen?" cried Janice. 

“I really could not tell you." 

“But maybe it was he who drove the taxicab?" 
suggested the girl. 

“That might be worth looking up," said her 
father. “And yet, it does not explain," he added, as 
they went into the living-room, why Olga should 
have stolen the treasure-box. That seems to be the 
greatest mystery,” 


CHAPTER VIII 


THEY COME AND GO 

* 'Daddy, do you mind if we have dinner a little 
early this evening ?’* Janice asked. 

'T have my appetite with me, if that is what you 
want to know,^’ said Broxton Day, smiling down 
upon her. 

"Well, Delia has it all ready, I think. Too early, 
of course.” 

"Bring it on!” cried her father jovially. "I can 
do it justice.” 

Janice wondered if he could. Already the food, 
she knew, was drying up in the warming oven. She 
hurried out into the kitchen. Delia had not come 
in from the back yard. Janice shrank from inter- 
fering with that back-fence conference; but she 
could not see daddy^s dinner spoiled. 

"Come, Delia !” she called, opening the door. "My 
father has come home.” 

"Oh, my! is your paw arrived?” asked the giant- 
ess, coming lingeringly away from the fence. 

Janice saw Miss Peckham’s snappy little eyes 
viewing her at the kitchen door with no pleasant 


77 


78 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

expression. She felt that something was brewing — 
something that would not be pleasant. But the spin- 
ster retired without speaking to her. 

‘You have dinner ready very early, Delia, Jan- 
ice said, as the big woman lumbered into the kitchen. 

“Didn^t you just say your paw had come?” 
demanded Delia in her squeaky voice. 

‘Yes. But you have everything ready at five 
o^clock instead of at six.” 

“Oh, yes. I don’t never believe in keepin’ folks 
waitin ’for their victuals,” said Delia, tossing her 
head. “You ain’t got any call to be critical — ^no you 
ain’t.” 

It was of no use! Janice saw that as plainly as 
she saw anything. This giantess had a dwarf’s 
brain. As daddy said, when he became particularly 
“Yankeefied,” “she didn’t know beans!” It would 
be quite useless to talk to her, or to expect her to 
remember what she was told to do. 

“I will do all I can to hide the rough corners from 
daddy,” Janice thought. “I’ll watch Delia before 
I go to school, and come home from school to 
straighten her out just as quickly as I can. I just 
won’t run to him with every little household 
trouble.” 

But it was a wretched dinner. It was so badly 
cooked that daddy shook his head over it mourn- 
fully. 

“It is a mystery to me how they manage to boil 


They Come and Goj 


79 


one pocato to mush while another is so hard you 
can't stick your fork into it,” he said. “And no 
seasoning! This steak now — or is it steak 

“Now, Daddy!” said Janice, half laughing, yet 
feeling a good deal like crying. 

“Well, I wasn't quite sure,” said her father. “I 
wonder if these cooks think that meat grows, all 
seasoned, on ‘the critter'? They must believe that. 
However, does she do the other work well ?” 

“I — I don't know yet,” murmured Janice. “T'll 
help her all I can. Daddy, and tell her how, if shell 
let me.” 

“Well, maybe we can make something of her,'^ 
said Broxton Day, with his hearty and cheerful 
laugh. “Remember, Olga wanted to boil fresh pork 
chops for our breakfast when she first came.” 

“I do wish we knew where Olga had gone to,^ 
said Janice. “It doesn't seem as though that girl 
would deliberately steal. I can't believe it. And if 
we don't get back that treasure-box and what it 
contains. Daddy, my heart will — just — ^be — broken.” 

“There, there! Don't give way about it. There 
is a chance yet of finding Olga — and the box, too,” 
said her father, trying to comfort his little daugh- 
ter. “I will not give up the search. Willie San- 
green will of course come back to his job, and he 
must know what has become of Olga. Those 
Swedes are very clannish indeed, over there at 
Pickletown ; but some of them bank with us, and I 


8o Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

am sure they will be on the lookout for the girl. 
Only, of course, I have not told them why I am so 
anxious to find her.” 

They finished dinner, and Delia came in to clear 
away, with her plump lips pouting and a general air 
about her of having been much injured. But Mr. 
Day, now so used to the vagaries of hired help, 
made no comment. 

He and Janice went into the living-room. This, 
at least, was homelike and clean. He settled into his 
chair and picked up the paper. Just then there was 
a ring at the front doorbell. 

Janice would have jumped up to answer it; but 
she heard the giantess going through the hall. There 
was a voice. Janice recognized it with a start. 
Then the giantess approached the living-room door, 
heavy footed, with a clatter of smaller bootheels 
behind her. 

Delia threw open the door as Mr. Day dropped 
his paper to look up. Her fat face was wreathed 
in a triumphant smile, and she said: 

‘Tt’s the nice lady from nex’ door. I guess she’s 
come to see your paw about them cats.” 

Mr. Day looked puzzled. 

Janice could have screamed as Miss Peckhani 
marched in. Delia apparently intended to stand in 
the doorway and enjoy whatever there was to enjoy; 
but as Mr. Day rose from his seat to welcome the 
neighbor, he said firmly: 


They Come and Go 


8i 


"'Thank you, Delia. We shall not need you in 
here at present. You may go.’’ 

The giantess tossed her head and lumbered out of 
the room, slamming the door behind her with un- 
necessary violence. 

"'Good-evening, Miss Peckham,” said the man, 
offering the spinster a chair. "I don’t know just 
what Delia meant about cats ; but I presume you will 
explain.” 

"Huh!” snapped Miss Peckham, "I guess that 
girl of yours hasn’t told you about what she done to 
my Sam. No, indeed! I guess not!” 

She was evidently working herself up into a 
violent state of mind, and Mr. Day, who knew his 
next door neighbor very well, hastened to smooth 
the troubled waters. 

"'I had not heard anything about cats, Miss Peck- 
ham, save the misfortune of a cat convention in our 
back kitchen yesterday morning. Janice told me 
about that, of course; but she could scarcely be 
blamed for it.” 

"'I don’t know why she shouldn’t be blamed!” 
ejaculated the angry woman. "'And my Sam’s got 
a broken leg.” 

""I am sorry if any of the cats was injured. It 
was a thoughtless joke of — ” he caught Janice’s eye 
and understood her meaning, "of one of the neigh- 
bor’s boys. He meant no particular harm, I fancy.” 

""You needn’t try an’ lay it on no boy !” exclaimed 


82 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


Miss Peckham. ‘"Twas a girl done it My Sam — ” 

"You mean that a girl broke the cat's leg?" quer- 
ied Mr. Day, quietly. 

""I mean just that. 'Twas a girl. And that is the 
girl!" and she pointed an accusing finger at the 
flushed Janice. 

""Oh, I never!" exclaimed the latter under her 
breath, and shaking her head vigorously. 

Mr. Day gave her a smiling look of encourage- 
ment. 

""I feel sure," he said, to Miss Peckham, ""that if 
Janice had by chance injured an animal — a cat, or 
any other — she would have told me. But although 
it may have been a girl who broke your cat's leg, it 
was not Janice." 

""You don't know anything about it!" cried Miss 
Peckham angrily. ""You don’t know what goes on 
here all day long while you are gone. I pity you, 
Mr. Day — I pity you from the bottom of my heart. 
You ought to have a woman here to manage this 
girl of yours. That's what you need !" 

""Oh!" gasped Janice, her color receding now. 
She was very angry. 

""Ah! don't you flout me, Janice Day!" exclaimed 
the spinster, eyeing Janice malevolently. ""I know 
how bad you act. I don't live right next door for 
nothin’. An' 'tisn’t only at home you act badly. 
But on the street. Fighting with boys like a hood- 
lum. Oh, I heard about it !" 


They Come and Go 


83; 


“Wait! Wait!^' exclaimed Mr. Day, with stern- 
ness. “I think you are out of bounds, Miss Peck- 
ham. I do not ask you to tell me how to take care 
of my little daughter. And I am sure I do not 
believe that you are rightly informed about her 
actions, even if you do live next door.’" 

Miss Peckham sniffed harder and tossed her head. 

“Let us get back to the cats,” he went on quietly. 
“Have you found that one of your cats has been 
hurt?” 

“His leg’s broke. The doctor said it was a most 
vicious blow. He’s put it in a cast, and poor Sam is 
quite wild.” 

“But why do you blame Janice?” 

“She done it !” exclaimed the spinster nodding her 
shawled head vigorously. “She ought to be looked 
after.” 

“No, Janice did not hurt the cat,” said Mr. Day 
with assurance. “Unfortunately the cat was hurt 
on our premises. But it was the girl working for 
us, not my little girl, who injured your cat.” 

“What do you mean?” demanded Miss Peckham 
sharply. “Not this big thing you’ve got here — 
the one that let me in ?” 

“The Swedish girl,” explained Mr. Day. “The 
cats were shut into our back kitchen, and before 
Janice could open the door to let them out, Olga, I 
believe, pelted them with coal."” 

“But what did she shut ’em up h the kitchen for?” 


84 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


demanded Miss Peckham, still pointing and glaring 
at Janice. 

'Dh, I didn’t !” exclaimed the latter, shaking her 
head vigorously. 

‘That was not my daughter’s doings,” Mr. Day 
repeated. “As I tell you, your cat was undoubtedly 
hurt on our premises. If I can do anything to sat- 
isfy you — pay the doctor’s bill, or the like ” 

“I don’t want money from you, Broxton Day,” 
exclaimed the woman rising. “I didn’t come here 
for that purpose. I came here to tell you that your 
house is goin’ to rack and ruin and that your girl 
needs a strong hand to manage her. That’s what 
she needs. You ain’t had no proper home here since 
your wife died.” 

*T fear that is only too true, Miss Peckham,” re- 
plied Mr. Day. 

“If Mrs. Day knew how things was goin’ she’d 
turn in her grave, I do believe,” went on the neigh- 
bor, perhaps not wholly in bitterness. 

The man’s face paled. Miss Peckliam did not 
know how much she was adding to the burden of 
sorrow in the hearts of Broxton Day and his little 
daughter. Janice was sobbing now, with her face 
hidden. 

“What you need is an intelligent woman to take 
hold,” went on the neighbor, warming to her sub- 
ject. “Take this creature you got now. Ugh! big 


They Come and Go 85 

elephant, and don’t scarcely know enough to come in 
when it rains, I do believe.” 

‘The class of people one finds at the agencies is 
admittedly not of a high order of intelligence,” 
said Mr. Day softly. 

“I should say they weren’t — if them you’ve had 
is samples,” sniffed Miss Peckham. “Why don’t 
you get somebody decent?” 

“I wish you would tell me how to go about get- 
ting a better houseworker,” sighed Mr. Day. 

“Get a working housekeeper — one that’s trained 
and is respectable. Somebody to overlook ” 

“But I cannot afford two servants,” the man has- 
tened to submit. 

“I ain’t suggesting another servant. Somebody 
that respects herself too much to be called a servant. 
Of course it’s hard to find the right party. 

“However, some women can do it. And that is 
the kind you need, Broxton Day. Somebody who 
will be firm with your girl, here, too.” 

am afraid,” said Janice’s father quietly, “that 
the sort of person you speak of is beyond my means ; 
perhaps such a marvel is not in the market at all,” 
and he smiled again. “Thank you for your interest. 
Miss Peckham.” 

He rose again to see her to the door. The spin- 
ster might have considered remaining longer and 
offering further advice ; but daddy knew how to get 


86 Janice Day, the; .Young Homemaker 


rid of people quickly and cheerfully when their busi- 
ness was over. 

'*Oh, Daddy! what a dreadful woman she is/’ 
sobbed Janice, when he came back into the living- 
room. 

*'Not so bad as that,” he said, chuckling, and pat- 
ting her shoulder comfortingly. ‘^It is her way to 
make much of a little. You see, she did not want 
anything for her injured cat, she merely wanted to 
come in and talk about it.” 

'‘But — but, Daddy,” confessed Janice, blushing 
deeply, “I really did fight Arlo Junior on the street. 
I boxed his ears.” 

Mr. Day had great difficulty to keep from laugh- 
ing, but Janice was too absorbed in her troubles to 
notice it. 

“Well, well! Taking the law into your own 
hands, were you ?” 

“Yes, Daddy. I guess it wasn’t very ladylike. 
But I’m wo ^ a hoodlum!” 

“Why was it that you did not want me to mention 
Arlo Junior?” asked Mr. Day curiously. 

“Well, you see, I sort of promised him I wouldn’t 
tell about what he did to the cats, if he came in 
here Saturday and helped me clean that back 
kitchen.” 

“Ho, ho! I see. Well, perhaps you are quite 
right to shield the young scamp under those circum- 
stances,” said her father, with twinkling eyes. 


They Come and Go 


87 


Mr. Day talked to his daughter for a while longer. 
He asked her about her school work and her school 
pleasures, about what the girls and boys in her circle 
of friends were doing. He tried to keep in close 
touch with the motherless girl’s interests, and espe- 
cially did he not want her to go to bed with sad and 
troublous thoughts in her mind. 

After a cheerful and happy half hour Janice kissed 
her father good-night and went to her own room. 

Janice did all she could the next morning before 
going to school to start Delia right in the house- 
work. But the giantess was still sullen and had 
much to say about ‘^it cornin’ to a pretty pass when 
children boss their elders.” 

This was an objection that Janice had contended 
with before. She only said, pleasantly: 

‘When you have once learned just how we do 
things here, I sha’n’t have to tell you again, Delia. 
But wherever you go to work, you know, you will 
have to learn the ways of the house.” 

‘T was doin’ housework, I was, when you was in 
your cradle,” declared the woman. 

“But evidently not doing it just as we like to have 
it done here,” insisted Janice cheerfully. “Now, 
try to please daddy, Delia. Everything will be all 
right then.” 

Delia only sniffed. She “sniffed” in a higher key 
than Janice had ever heard anybody sniff before. 
Certainly Mrs. Bridget Burns was not turning out 


88 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

to be as mild a creature as Janice had first believed 
her to be. She could be stubborn. 

When she got to school that morning Janice found 
that there was another disturbing incident in the off- 
ing. Amy Carringford squeezed her arm as they 
hurried in to grammar recitation, and smiled at her. 
But it was with gravity that she whispered in Jan- 
ice’s ear: 

guess I shall have to refuse Stella’s invitation.” 

“Oh, you must go !” 

“No, I can’t go.” 

“Don’t dare say that, Amy!” responded Jan- 
ice, earnestly. “You haven’t told her you aren’t 
coming, have you?” 

“No-o.” 

“Don’t you dare!” repeated Janice. 

“But — ^but, I don’t see how I can ” 

“Wait! I’ll tell you after school. Don’t say a 
word to Stella about not going to the party. I tell 
you, if you don’t go, I sha’n’t!” 

“Oh, Janice!” 

There was no time for more whispering. Amy’s 
big luminous eyes were fixed on her friend a good 
deal through the several recitations they both at- 
tended. It was evident she was puzzled. 

At lunch hour Amy always ran home, for Mullen 
Eane — at least, the end on which she lived — ^was 
not far. And, perhaps, she 'did not care to join the 
girls who brought nice lunches In pretty baskets. So 


They Come and Go 89 

Janice could not talk with her new friend until 
school was out. 

Janice had determined to make a friend of Amy 
Carringford. Oh, yes, when Janice Day made up 
her mind to a thing she usually did it. And she had 
conceived a great liking for Amy, as well as a deep 
interest in the whole Carringford family. 

‘'Now, Janice, what did you mean?'’ Amy asked, 
as they set off from the schoolhouse with their books. 
“I just can't go to that party!" 

“Daddy says that it is a mistake to say that the 
word 'can't' is not in the dictionary, for it is — in the 
newer ones. But I am sure it ought not to be found 
in the 'bright lexicon of youth' — like 'fail,' you 
know,” and Janice laughed. 

“You are just talking," giggled Amy, clinging to 
Janice's arm. “I don't know what you mean." 

“You are going to know soon, my dear," returned 
Janice. “Come home with me. Your mother won’t 
mind, will she?" 

“No. I'll send word by Gummy.” 

“My, that sounds almost like swearing — 'by Gum- 
my!” exclaimed Janice, her hazel eyes dancing. 
“And there Gummy goes. Grab him quick. Tell 
him you'll stay to supper.” 

“Oh, no! I’ll tell him I'll stay till supper/^ re- 
joined Amy, as she ran after her brother. 

She caught up with Janice within half a block, 
laughing and skipping. Never had Janice seen Amy 


go Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


so light-hearted. Even the thought that she could 
not go to the party at Stella Latham's house did not 
serve to make Amy sorrowful for long. And 
Janice guessed why. 

Amy Carringford had been hungry for a close 
friend. Perhaps Janice was starved, too, for such 
companionship. At any rate, Amy responded to 
Janice's friendliness just as a sunflower responds to 
the orb of the day and turns toward it. 

The two girls went on quite merrily toward the 
Day cottage at eight hundred and forty-five Knight 
Street. There was plenty to chatter about without 
even touching on the coming party. Janice had 
plans about that. 

When the two came in sight of the Day house 
those plans — and almost ever)d:hing else — went out 
of Janice's head. There was a high, dusty, empty 
rubbish cart standing before the side gate of the Day 
premises; and from the porch a man in the usual 
khaki uniform of the Highway Department was 
bringing out a black oilcloth bag which Janice very 
well remembered. 

'*Oh, dear me! what can have happened?" Janice 
cried starting to run. ‘That is Delia's bag — ^the 
very one she brought with her." 

She arrived at the gate just as the man came 
through the opening. He was a dusty-faced man, 
with a bristling moustache, and great, overhanging 
brows. He looked very angry, too. 


They Come and Go 


91 


‘‘Oh, what is the matter?'* asked Janice, as the 
man pitched the oilcloth bag into the cart, and turned 
back toward the house again. 

But he was not regarding at all the girl or her 
chum who then ran up. He turned to bellow in 
through the open door: 

“Hi! Come out o' that, Biddy Burns! Ye poor 
innocent ! Sure, with your two little children home 
cryin' all day alone and me at work, ye should be 
ashamed of yerself, me gur-rl ! If I was the kind of 
a feyther ye nade, I'd be wearin' a hairbrush out on 
ye, big and old as ye be. Come out o' that— or will 
I come in af ther ye ?" 

“Mercy me !" gasped Amy. 

“Oh ! Oh !" exclaimed Janice, tugging at the man's 
sleeve, “what are you doing to Delia ?" 

“‘Delia,' is it? More of her foolishness. She's 
Biddy Bums, and her husband is dead — ^lucky man 
that he is. And I'm her feyther and the grand- 
feyther of her two babies — Tessie and 'Melia. And 
if she don't come home this minute with me. I'll put 
the young ones in a home, so I will !" 

Delia, in the flounced dress, and weeping, just 
then appeared. She stumbled down the steps and 
came to the gate, blubbering like a child. 

“Sure, he says I've got to go ho-ome,” sobbed 
the giantess. “'Tis me father — ^he tells the truth. 
But I wanted to earn money myself. He never lets 
me do nothing I want to do !” 


gz Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

“Ye big, foolish gur-rl ejaculated the man gruff- 
ly. “Was it workin" for you she was. Miss?"' 

“Yes,^’ said Janice breathlessly. 

“And they had a pianny,’’ sobbed Delia. “ ^Twas 
be-a-utiful Y* 

“You come home an’ play on the washboard — 
that’s the kind of a pianny you nade to play on,” 
grumbled her father. “I’m sorry for ye,” he added 
turning to Janice, “if your folks has to depend on the 
likes of her to do the work. Sure, it’s not right good 
sinse she’s got” 

He came behind the giantess suddenly and boosted 
her with strong arms up to the seat at the front of 
the wagon. Then he climbed up himself and the 
turnout rattled away heavily along the street 

Delia’s departure was one of the most astoimding 
things that had happened to the Days during the 
months of their dependence upon itinerant house- 
workers. 


CHAPTER IX 


SHOCKS AND FROCKS 

Janice found herself clinging tightly to Amy 
Carringford's hand and Amy clinging tightly to 
hers, as the rubbish wagon rattled away with Delia 
and her grim father perched on the high seat, while 
the black oilcloth bag rattled around in the other- 
wise empty body of the cart. 

‘‘Oh, Janice V* gasped Amy at last. 

“Oh, Amy!'’ rejoined her friend. “And no din- 
ner for daddy when he comes home !” 

Amy could not comment on this catastrophe for 
the moment, for Miss Peckham (the only neighbor 
who seemed to have marked the departure of Delia) 
came swiftly into view. Miss Peckham's blinds were 
always bowed, and one never knew which blind she 
was lurking behind. 

“Well!” she exclaimed (and Janice thought she 
said it quite cheerily), “so that one’s gone, has she?” 

“They — ^they just seem to come and go,” Janice 
replied, almost in tears. “Oh, dear! Delia wasn’t 
much; but I did hope she would stay a little longer.” 

“ ‘Much’ !” sniffed Miss Peckham. “I should say 


OS 


94 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

she wasn't. And she isn’t even sensible. I should 
think even a girl of your age could have seen she 
was more’n half crazy. Wouldn’t expect your fath- 
er to notice nothing. He’s only a man.” 

"'Oh! Really crazy, do you mean?” Amy Car- 
ringford burst out. 

""She never was more’n half bright, that Biddy 
Garrity. That was her name before she married 
Tom Bums. And he died. Bio wed up in the pow- 
der mill. That was old Garrity who came for her. 
She ain’t got no right to run off and leave her two 
children and that old man fo get along as besf they 
can. But she does it — often. I thought there would 
be trouble just as soon as I seen her sitting on your 
steps t’other day.” 

"Well, I wish we’d known it,” sighed Janice. 
""She — she did seem sort of funny. But she wasn’t 
much worse than some of the others we’ve had.” 

""Humph!” sniffed Miss Peckham, ""just what I 
told your father last night. You need a manager 
here — somebody to take hold.” 

"T shall have to fake hold now and see about get- 
ting dinner for daddy,” Janice responded, recovering 
a measure of her §elf-confidence. ""Come on in, 
Amy, and watch me work.” 

""I’ll come in and help you,” said her friend. ""I 
guess you won’t have to do it all.” 

A glance through the lower rooms proved that 


Shocks and Frocks 


95 

Delia had done little more toward straightening the 
house this day than the day before. 

“Goodness, mercy me, Janice Day!’’ exclaimed 
Amy Carringford. “I’m awfully glad we don’t have 
to have servants. It must be awful !” 

“It just is,” sighed Janice. “You never know 
when you come home from school whether you will 
find the girl or not. And you’re ’most always sure 
to find that not half the work’s been done. Well, 
I can get daddy some sort of a dinner myself to- 
night.” 

“What are you going to cook ? Let me help,” said 
Amy eagerly. “I know how to make lovely rolls — 
only you have to set the sponge the night before. 
And Judge Peters’s pudding is just luscious! Only 
you have to have currants and citron and chopped 
nuts to go into it.” 

“We won’t have either of those things for din 
ner, then,” said Janice, with a cheerful laugh. 

“Well, we don’t have them nowadays,” sighed 
Amy. “But we used to.” 

“I suppose you have had to give up lots of nice 
things since your father died,” rejoined her friend 
sympathetically. “But,” and she giggled, “Gummy 
said yesterday he couldn’t give up his name.” 

“The poor boy!” Amy declared, shaking her 
head. “Give me an apron, Janice. I am going to 
peel those potatoes and that turnip. Potatoes and 


g6 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

turnip mashed together makes a nice dish. And 
Gummy can’t really give up his name.” 

“ ‘Gums with’ 1 It’s awful,” murmured Janice. 
“How ever ” 

“Well, I’ll tell you. Poor dear father had a half- 
brother who was lots older than he. Grandmother 
Carringford had been married before she married 
our grandfather, you see. And her first husband’s 
name was Mr. Gumswith. John Gumswith. It’s not 
so bad as a last name, you see.” 

“No,” agreed Janice, her eyes twinkling. “Not 
when you say it quick.” 

Amy laughed again, busy peeling the vegetables. 
And she peeled them thin, Janice noticed. Amy had 
evidently been taught the fine points of frugal house- 
keeping. 

“So poor Gummy got his name from John Gums- 
with, Junior. I guess father’s half-brother was a 
queer man. He said he’d never marry, because he 
was always wandering about the world.” 

“Like a peddler?” ventured Janice. 

“No. But he went to foreign countries. He al- 
ways expected to earn a lot of money by some stroke 
of fortune, mother says. But none of us children 
ever saw him. Before Gummy was bom Uncle John 
Gumswith started off for Australia, and mother and 
father never heard of him, or from him after that.” 

“But they named poor Gummy after him,” com- 
mented Janice, busy with the onion she was chop- 


Shod^s and Frocks 


97 

ping to season the hamburger roast, and trying to 
keep the juice of the onion out of her eyes. 

‘'You see,” Amy confessed confidentially, “when 
father and mother were married Uncle John gave 
them a little nest egg. You understand? He had 
some money, and he gave some of it to them. And 
then, he was father’s only living relative; so they 
named the first baby ‘Gumswith’ — so that the 
family name should not die out you know.” 

“My goodness!” exclaimed Janice, but whether 
because of the saddling of Gummy Carringford with 
such a name, or because of the squirting of onion 
juice into her left eye, she did not explain at the 
moment. 

“So Gummy is Gummy,” sighed his sister. 
“Father didn’t name him that just for the money’s 
sake. Mother says a million dollars wouldn’t really 
pay for such a name. But father thought a lot of 
Uncle John Gumswith. 

“But when Gummy grows up, he will have to go 
through life, so he says, signing his name ‘G. Car- 
ringford,’ ” and Amy began to giggle at this thought. 

“It is really too bad,” said Janice, but her mind 
was on another subject just then. “How quick you 
are, Amy! You know how to do everything, don’t 
you ?” 

“No I don’t. But what I know, I know well,” 
said her friend in her quiet way. “Is your water 


98 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

hot? This turnip wants to go right on, for it will 
take longer to cook than the potatoes.” 

‘Here you are,” said Janice, seizing the pot and 
carrying it to the stove. There she poured boiling 
water over the turnip and set the pot where it would 
continue to simmer. “It's too early to put the roast 
in yet. Come on upstairs, Amy. I know that Delia 
neither made up my bed nor dusted my room. I did 
daddy's before I went to school this morning.” 

“Such a nice house !” murmured Amy, as she fol- 
lowed Janice upstairs by the way of the front hall. 

“And not half kept,” sighed Janice. “When dear 
mother was with us ” 

She and Amy said no more until Janice's bedroom 
was all spick and span again. Janice hugged her 
friend heartily when at last the pillows were 
plumped up at the head of the bed. 

“You're a dear!” she said. “You do like me, 
don't you, Amy?” 

“Of course I do.” 

“Then you'll go to Stella's party with me, won't 
you ?” 

“Oh, but, Janice, I can't I” 

“There's that word ‘can't* again,” said Janice 
lightly. “I don't believe in it — ^no ma'am ! You can 
go if you want to.” 

“I — I haven't a thing nice enough to wear!” con- 
fessed Amy desperately, her face flaming and water 
standing in her eyes. 


Shocks and Frocks 


99 

‘‘As though that was a good reason! Let me 
show you what I am going to wear.” 

But the pretty black and white dress that Janice 
brought forth from her closet only made Amy shake 
her head. 

“Yes. I know. But it is new — and very nice.” 
“IVe never worn it yet,” confessed Janice. 

“And everything IVe got is as old as the hills,” 
groaned Amy Carringford. 

“Well, look here — and here — and here!” Janice 
tossed as many frocks upon the bed. “What do you 
suppose is going to become of those ?” 

“Oh, Janice ! how pretty they are. This pink and 
vhite one ” 

“M-mm! my mother made them for me,” said 
Janice, trying to speak bravely. “And now they are 
too small, anyway. IVe grown a lot since a year 
ago.” 

“Oh, Janice!” 

“So you are going to wear one of them to Stella’s 
party,” declared Janice confidently. “The pink and 
white one if you like.” 

“Oh, Janice, I can’t. My mother wouldn’t let 

♦VIA 99 

me. 

“I’m going to make her let you. I’m going to 
beg her on my knees!” declared Janice, laughing. 
^‘Do get into it, Amy, and see if it fits you.” 
“Wel-1-1!” 

It did. There was no doubt but that Amy was 


100 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

just a wee bit smaller than Janice and that the 
frocks were an almost perfect fit. 

‘‘But — but to take a whole new dress from you — 
a gift! Oh, Janice! I know it isn't right. Mother 
will not hear of it.” 

“Mother’s going to hear of it — ^and from me,” 
declared Janice. “To-morrow’s Saturday. After 
I get all the work done, and Arlo Junior helps me 
clean that back kitchen, I am going to bring this 
dress down to your house. I know when she once 
sees it on you, she won’t have the heart to say 
‘No.’ ” 

So, perhaps Janice Day was sly, after all. 


CHAPTER X 


OTHER people’s TROUBLES 

Daddy, of course, laughed. If it had not been for 
his sanguine temperament, and his ability to see the 
funny side of life, Janice often wondered what they 
should do. 

‘They say,’’ she thought, “that every cloud has a 
silver lining. But to dear daddy there is something 
better than silver linings to our clouds. Something 
to laugh at ! I wonder if, after all, being able to see 
the fun in things isn’t the biggest blessing in the 
world. I am sure Miss Peckham isn’t happy, and she 
never sees anything funny at all ! But daddy 

When she told him at dinner time how Delia had 
departed on the rubbish wagon with her angry 
father, Broxton Day laughed so that he could scarce- 
ly eat. 

“But what are we going to do?” cried Janice. 

“Don’t be a little Martha, honey, troubled with 
many things. I would have given a good deal to 
have seen that departure. ‘Good riddance to bad 
rubbish,’ is an old saying back in Vermont where I 
was brought up, Janice. And Delia going in the rub- 
bish wagon seems fitting, doesn’t it ?” 


lOI 


102 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

T!t was funny/' admitted his little daughter. ‘^But 
what shall we do?" 

'Why, try the next applicant," said Broxton Day 
easily. '1 will look in at the agencies again." 

"I'm afraid that won't do any good. Daddy," 
sighed Janice. "Delia came from the agency, and 
yotuseci what she was like. And Olga " 

"No,"* interrupted Mr. Day; "'Olga came direct 
from Pickletown." 

'Well, it doesn't matter. There were plenty of 
others from the agencies, all as bad or worse than 
Olga and Delia"; and Janice looked much down- 
cast. 

"Oh, little daughter, little daughter!" admon- 
ished Mr. Day, "don't give way like that. Some 
time, out of the lot, we'll find the right person." 

'Well, maybe," agreed Janice, cheerful once 
more. "I guess we’ve already had all the bad ones. 
Those that are left to come to us must be just ordi- 
nary human beings with some good and some sense 
mixed in with the bad.” 

It proved to be a very busy day, indeed, for Janice 
— ^that Saturday. But she did not overlook her 
promise to Amy Carringford. Yet it was mid- 
afternoon when she started for Mullen Lane with 
the pink and white party dress in a neat package 
over her arm. 

Janice could not overlook the poverty-stricken 
appearance of the Carringford cottage. It could not, 


Other People’s Troubles 103 

indeed, be ignored by even the casual glance. But 
its cleanliness, and everybody's neatness about the 
little dwelling, portrayed the fact that here was a 
family putting its best foot forward. Mrs. Carring- 
ford was proud. Janice Day knew that she must be 
very cautious indeed if she would see Amy adorned 
with her own finery. 

‘‘Dear Mrs. Carringford," she whispered to her 
friend's mother, “I've got a surprise for you. I 
want Amy to come upstairs with me, and by and by, 
when we call you up, please come and look into her 
room." 

Amy, according to agreement, had said nothing 
about the dress to her mother. She was eager, but 
doubtful just the same. 

“I don't think it is right, Janice," she declared, 
over and over. “I don't see how I can accept the 
dress from you, when I have nothing to give in re- 
turn." 

“Oh, that is a very niggardly way to receive," 
cried Janice, shaking her head. “If we can't accept 
a present save when we can return it — why, daddy 
says that is the most selfish thought in the world.” 

“Selfish!" 

“For sure ! We are too selfish to allow other peo- 
ple to enjoy giving. Don't you see? It’s fun to 
give." 

“But it is not fun to be the object of charity,” 
complained Amy, with some sullenness. 


ii 04 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


‘Why, my dear,” exclaimed Janice Day, “you 
are not always going to be poor! Of course not. 
Some day you will be lots better off. Gummy will 
grow up and go to work, and then you will all be 
well off. And, besides, this sort of giving, between 
friends, isn’t charity.” 

“Gummy wishes to go to work now,” sighed Amy. 
“But mother wants to keep him at school.” 

“He might work after school and on Saturdays.” 

“Oh, that would be fine! But who would give 
him such a job? You see, we do not trade much 
with the storekeepers, and mother isn’t very well 
known ” 

“You wait!” exclaimed Janice. “I believe I 
know somebody who needs a boy.” 

“Oh, I hope you do, Janice.” 

Meanwhile Amy was getting into that lovely, 
dainty dress again. 

“You do look too sweet for anything in it,” 
Janice declared. The latter ran out to the stairs and 
called to Mrs. Carringford 

“Oh, do come up and look! Do, Mrs. Carring- 
ford!” 

She kept Amy’s bedroom door shut, and held 
Mrs. Carringford for a moment at the top of the 
stairs. 

“Oh, Mrs. Carringford,” she murmured, “don’t 
you want to make two girls just awfully happy?” 


Other People’s Troubles 105 

‘Why, my dear child 

“You know, I have been growing just like a weed 
this past year. Daddy says so. I have outgrown 
all the pretty clothes my — ^my mother made me for 
last summer, and which of course I could not wear. 
Amy is just a wee bit smaller than I ” 

“My dear!^’ 

‘Wait!” gasped Janice, almost in tears she was 
so much in earnest. “Just wait and see her! And 
I want her to go to the party. And there are stock- 
ings, and pumps, and a hat, and everything! Look 
at her !” 

She flung open the bedroom door. Amy stood 
across the room from them, flushing and paling by 
turns, and looking really frightened, but, oh! so 
pretty. 

‘Why, Amy!” murmured Mrs. Carringford, her 
own cheeks flushing. 

What mother can look at her little daughter when 
she is charmingly dressed without being proud of 
her? She turned questioningly to Janice. 

“Does your father know about this ?” 

“Daddy quite approves,” said Janice demurely. 
“I never could get any wear out of them. You can 
see that, Mrs. Carringford. 

“And if you let Amy wear them, we’ll both be so 
happy !” 

Mrs. Carringford kissed her. are a sweet. 


iio6 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

good child,” she said rather brokenly. 
blame Amy for loving you.” 

So it was agreed that Amy should wear the party 
dress. Janice had errands to do at the store, and 
she begged for the company of Gummy Carringford 
to help her carry the things she bought. 

‘You know, I can't carry them all, and sometimes 
Harriman's delivery doesn't get around until mid- 
night and we have to get up and take the things in.'* 

“Come on,” said Gummy, who knew about the 
dress for his sister, “I'll carry anything you want.'* 

But Janice really had another reason for getting 
Gummy Carringford to Harriman's store. She 
maneuvered to get Mr. Harriman himself to wait 
on her, and when Gummy was out of ear-shot she 
began to confide in the proprietor. 

“Do you see that boy who is with me, Mr. 
Harriman?” she asked. 

“Oh, yes. I've seen him before I guess. One of 
your neighbors?” 

“He goes to our school. And he is a very nice 
boy.” 

“What's his name?” 

“His name is ‘G. Carringford’,” Janice told him 
demurely. 

“Oh! ‘G?’” queried Mr. Harriman. “Is that 
all?” 

“Well, you know, it isn’t his fault if he has a 
dreadful name,” she said. “And it doesn’t really 


Other People’s Troubles 107 

hurt him. He can work just as hard — and he 
wants work.” 

‘1 thought you said he went to school ?” 

‘^After school and on Saturdays,” she explained. 
"'He doesn't know you, Mr. Harriman, so I suppose 
he is bashful about speaking to you. But you know 
him now, because I introduced G. Carringford. 
Won't you try him?” 

The outcome of this attempt to help the Carring- 
fords was one of the many things Janice had to con- 
fide to daddy that evening. As she told him, she 
had put little dependence upon the hope of finding 
another house worker easily. And that was well, for 
Mr. Day had found nobody at the agencies. He 
would not trust engaging a girl again, unseen. 

"Perhaps next week will bring us good fortune, 
my dear,” he said. "How did you get on to-day, all 
alone ? I see the silver has been polished.” 

"Only some of it. Daddy. And I have been a 
busy bee, now I tell you.” 

"Bravo, my dear! The busy bee makes the 
honey.” 

"And has a stinger, too,” she replied roguishly. 
"I guess Arlo Junior thinks so.” 

"So Junior came over according to promise?” 
said her father, interested. 

"Yes, indeed. And he did work, Daddy! You 
should have seen him,” 

"The vision of Arlo Weeks, Junior, working 


io8 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

really would be worth the price of admission/' 
chuckled Broxton Day. 

‘That isn’t the worst of it — for Arlo/' said 
Janice gaily. “You see, his helping me clear up 
that back kitchen got him a bad reputation.” 

“Why, Janice! how was that?” 

“Oh, he did the cleaning very well. As well as 
it could be done. That soft coal made marks on the 
walls that never will come off until they are painted 
again. It’s awful smutchy — ^that coal.” 

'T know,” agreed Broxton Day. “But about 
Arlo?” 

“I’m coming to that,” she said smiling. ‘You see, 
Aflo Junior was just about through when his mother 
come over looking for him. She wanted him to go 
on an errand. She saw what he had been doing for 
me, for he had an apron on and the broom in his 
hand.” 

“Caught with the goods, in other words?” 
chuckled Mr. Day. 

“Yes. And we couldn’t tell her why he was help- 
ing me. So she said right out : 

“‘Why, Arlo Junior! if you can help Janice like 
this — and you and she were fighting the other day — 
you can come right home and clean out the wood- 
shed. It needs it 

“And — and,” laughed Janice, “he had to do it. 
He worked pretty near all day to-day. And he 
scowled at me dreadfully this afternoon.” 


Other People^s Troubles 109 

■^He will be playing other tricks on you/’ wanted 
her father. 

‘Well, there will be no Olga to make them 
worse,” she sighed. “That is one sure thing. Oh, 
dear. Daddy, I wonder where she is — and the 
treasure-box! It is too, too hateful for anything!” 

“I called up the pickle factory where Willie San- 
green works. They had heard nothing from him. 
It looks as though Olga and he must have gone away 
together. Stole a march on all their friends and 
got married, maybe.” 

“But why should she take my treasure-box?” 
cried Janice. “Oh, Daddy! I can never forgive 
myself for my carelessness.” 

“Don’t worry, child. You could not really be 
blamed,” he rejoined sadly. 

“But that doesn’t bring back mother’s picture 
and the other things,” murmured the anxious Janice, 
watching his clouding face. 

As always when they were alone, daddy washed 
the supper dishes and Janice dried them. Daddy 
with an apron on and his sleeves rolled up, and a 
paper cap on his head (she made him wear that like 
a regular “chef”), made a picture that always 
pleased his daughter. 

“I think you would make a very nice cook, Daddy 
dear,” she often told him. “In fact, you seem to 
fit in almost anywhere. I guess it’s because you 
are always ready to do something.” 


no Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


‘‘Flattery! Flattery!” he returned, pinching her 
cheek. 

“But it is so, you know. Daddy. You always 
know what to do — and you do it.” 

“That is what they tell me at the bank,” said Mr. 
Day, with rather a rueful smile. “This Mexican 
mine business is developing some troubles, and they 
want rne to go down there and straighten them out.” 

“Oh, Daddy!” she cried breathlessly. 

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “That is what I 
tell them. I cannot leave you alone.” 

“But take me !” she cried, almost dancing up and 
down. 

“Can’t be thought of, Janice. That is a rough 
country — and you’ve got to stick to school, besides. 
You know, my dear, we had already decided on 
that.” 

“Yes, I know,” she sighed. “But of course you 
won’t go away and leave me? We — we’ve never 
been separated since — since dear mamma died.” 

“True, my dear. And we will not contemplate 
such separation. I have told them at the bank it 
would be impossible.” 

It was not of their own troubles that they talked 
mostly on this evening, however, but of some other 
people’s troubles. After they were out of the 
kitchen and settled in the living-room, Janice began 
to tell him about the Carringfords. 

“They are just the nicest people you ever saw. 


Other People’s Troubles 


III 


Daddy. Amy and Gummy are coming over here to- 
morrow after Sunday School so that you can meet 
them.” 

‘‘ ‘Gummy’ !” ejaculated Mr. Day. 

Janice told him all about that boy’s unfortunate 
name. “You see,” she explained, “Mrs. Carring- 
ford told me herself this afternoon that his Uncle 
John Gums with was a very nice man.” 

“Seems to me,” said daddy, quite amused, “that 
doesn’t make the boy’s name any less unfortunate. 
And have they never even heard of the uncle since 
he went to Australia?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Well,” chuckled Mr. Day, “Gummy had better go 
to the Legislature and get his name changed. 
That’s a handicap that no boy should have to 
shoulder.” 

“It is awful. And it makes Gummy shy, I think. 
He wanted to work after school hours and on Satur- 
day. But he didn’t seem to know how to get a job. 
So I,” Janice proceeded quite in a matter-of-fact 
way, “got him one.” 

“You did!” 

“Yes, Daddy. I went to Mr. Harriman, the 
grocer. You know, we trade there. And I know 
that he can use a boy just as well as not. So I told 
him about Gummy ” 

“Did you tell Harriman his name ?” chuckled her 
father. 


1 12 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

said he was 'G. Carringford/ Janice replied, 
her eyes twinkling. “But you needn^t laugh. Mr. 
Harriman did.” 

“Did what?” 

“Laugh. I really wanted Gummy to take a nom 
de plume, or whatever it is they call ^em.” 

“An alias, I guess it would be, in Gummy’s case,” 
said her father. “And wouldn’t he?” 

“No,” said Janice, shaking her head. “Gummy 
seems to think that he’s in honor bound to stick up 
for his name. That is what he says.” 

“Ahem ! Some boy, that !” 

“He’s a nice boy,” declared Janice. ‘You’ll see. 
And he got the job.” 

“Oh, he did! So I see that my Janice is a real 
‘do something’ girl.” 

“Why, yes, I hadn’t thought of that,” she agreed, 
all smiles at his praise. “I did do something, didn’t 
I? Gummy is going to work for Mr. Harriman, 
and that’ll help them. But it was about Amy and 
Stella Latham’s party I wanted to tell you.” 

“Oh, was it, indeed?” her father murmured. 

She related the circumstances attached to the com- 
ing party and Amy Carringford’s reason for not 
being able to go. 

“And you ought to see Amy in that pink and 
white dress. She’s just too sweet for anything !” 

“All right, daughter. I agree to give your little 
friend the frock if her mother is willing.” 


Other People's Troubles 


113 


'"I just made Mrs. Carringford agree/' said 
Janice, bobbing her head earnestly. “They are 
awfully proud folks." 

“With a proper pride, perhaps." 

“I guess so. They are real nice anyway — even if 
Gummy does wear patched pants." 

“And does he?" asked daddy, seriously. “Per- 
haps we had better look through my wardrobe in his 
behest." 

“But, Daddy! he can't wear your clothes. He'd 
be lost in them," Janice giggled. 

“True. But his mother may know how to cut 
the garments down and make them over for the 
boy. You ask her, Janice. I will lay out a couple 
of suits that I will never be able to wear again." 

And so they forgot their own troubles, for the 
time being, in seeking to relieve those of some 
other people, 


CHAPTER XI 


HRS. WATKINS 

Although it was probable that most of the Days' 
neighbors felt more or less curiosity, if not interest, 
in their domestic misfortunes, it was only Miss 
Peckham who seemed to keep really close observa- 
tion, in season and out, of all that went on in and 
about the Day house. 

Janice could have wished that the spinster would 
give more of her attention to her cats and Am-* 
brose, the parrot, and less to neighborhood affairs. 
For the child knew that not even a peddler came to 
the door that the sharp-visaged woman behind her 
bowed blinds did watch to see what Janice did 

‘'She watches every move I make, Daddy,” com- 
plained the girl one day. ‘T don't see why she cares 
who comes to see me. She's the meanest thing 

"Now, Janice, dear!” 

"I don't care. Daddy, just this once ! Why, this 
afternoon three of the girls were here, and after 
they left Miss Peckham called me over to the fence 
and asked me when the Beemans were going to 
Canada. 


Mrs. Watkins 


115 

‘‘The Beemans talk of going there before long, 
but are not certain about it; and Annette told the 
rest of us girls all about it as a great secret. Miss 
Peckham deliberately listened at her window, and 
then, because she couldnT hear all we said, she tried 
to make me tell her the whole story. Now, isn’t 
that mean ?” 

“Oh, well, Janice ’’ 

“You wouldn’t listen like that. Daddy Day, and 
you wouldn’t let me, so there !” 

“Maybe not, Janice. But then, you know, we do 
many things that Miss Peckham does not approve 
of — many things that she would not think of 
doing.” 

“Now, Daddy, you are joking! You know you 
are !” 

“Maybe so — ^half way. But then we are respon- 
sible for ourselves, and not for Miss Peckham. 
But I am sorry, daughter, that she troubles you. 
Perhaps,” he added more lightly, “we shall get 
things on a more satisfactory basis here before long, 
and then Miss Peckham will not think it necessary 
to look after us so much.” 

“You know better than that. Daddy Day. Miss 
Peckham will look after us till we are hundreds of 
years old,” answered Janice. But now she spoke 
with a smile on her lips. 

The disappointment of the coming and going of 
Bridget Burns made both father and daughter shrink 


,ti 6 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

from trying another house worker unless she ap- 
peared more than ordinarily promising. So for a 
day or two daddy went personally to the agencies 
and looked the prospective workers over. His re- 
ports to Janice were not hopeful. 

‘Dh, dear me, Daddy!'" Janice sighed, ‘"I do wish 
I could do it all. Maybe I ought only to go to 
school part time " 

“No, my dear. We will scrabble along as best 
we can. You must not neglect the studies." 

“At any rate,” she exclaimed, “it will soon be 
vacation time I I can do ever so much more in the 
house then." 

“Nor do I believe that is a good plan," her 
father said, shaking his head. “The best thing that 
could happen to you would be for you to go away 
for a change. I have a good mind to send you back 
East. Your Aunt Almira " 

“Oh, Daddy! Never! You don’t mean it?" 
cried the girl. 

“Why, you'll like your Aunt Almira. Of course, 
Jase Day is not such an up-and-coming chap as one 
might wish; but he is a good sort, at that And 
there is your cousin, Marty." 

“But I don't know any of them,” sighed Janice. 
“And I don't want to leave you.” 

“But if we cannot get any help 

“I'll get along. WTiat would you do in this 
house alone if I went away?” she demanded. 


Mrs. Watkins 


'I'd shut it up and go down to the Laurel House 
to board." 

"Oh, that's awful!" 

"No. I get my lunch there now. It’s not very 
bad," said Broxton Day, smiling. 

"I mean it's awful to think of shutting up our 
home for the summer. You haven't got to go away 
to Mexico, have you. Daddy?" she queried with 
sudden suspicion. 

"Well, my dear, it may be necessary," he con- 
fessed. 

"And you'd send me away to Vermont while you 
were gone ?" 

"I don't know what else to do — if the necessity 
arises. Jase Day is my half-brother — ^the only living 
relative I have. Your mother's people are all scat- 
tered. I wouldn't know what else to do with you, 
my dear." 

"Mercy !" she sighed, winking back the tears, "it 
sounds as though I — I were what you call a 'liability’ 
in your bank business. Isn't that it? Why, Daddy ! 
I want to be an 'asset,' not a 'liability.' " 

"Bless you, my dear, you are! A great, big 
asset !" he laughed. "But you must not neglect the 
necessary preparation for life which your studies 
give you. Nor must I let you overwork. Have 
patience — and hope. Perhaps we shall be able to 
find a really good housekeeper, after all." 

When, on Wednesday afternoon as Janice camd 


fi i8 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

home from school, she saw Miss Peckham beckoning 
to her from her front porch, the girl had no sus- 
picion that the maiden lady was about to interfere 
in her and daddy’s affairs. No, indeed ! 

'‘Now I wonder what she wants !” murmured Jan- 
ice, going reluctantly toward the Peckham house. 
"And she’s got company, too.” 

The spinster was sitting on her porch behind the 
honeysuckle vines, with her sewing table and the big 
parrot, Ambrose, chained to his perch beside her. 
There was, too, a second woman on the porch. 

"Good afternoon. Miss Peckham,” Janice said, 
swinging her books as she came up the walk from 
Miss Peckham’s gate. "Hello, Polly!” 

"Polly wants cracker!” declared the bird, flap- 
ping his wings and doing a funny little dance on his 
perch. 

"Be still !” commanded Miss Peckham. With her 
sharp little black eyes she glanced from Janice to the 
other woman. "This is the girl,” she said. 

Janice, feeling as though she was under some im- 
portant scrutiny looked at the second woman in 
curiosity. She found her a not unpleasant looking 
person. She was much wrinkled, yet her cheeks 
were rather pink and her lips very vivid. Janice 
wondered if it was possible that this color was put on 
by hand. 

The woman sat in a rocking chair with her long 
hands folded idly in her lap. On the hands were 


Mrs. Watkins 


1 19 

white ‘‘half mits” — something Janice knew were 
long out of fashion but which were once considered 
very stylish indeed. 

The woman’s eyes were a shallow brown color— 
perhaps “faded” would be a better expression. It 
seemed as though she were too languid even to look 
with attention at any one or an3rthing. 

“This is the girl, Sophrony,” Miss Peckham re* 
peated more sharply. 

“Oh, yes,” murmured the strange woman, as 
though awakened from a brown study. “Yes. Quite 
a pretty little girl.” 

“Pretty is as pretty does,” scoffed Miss Peck- 
ham. “At any rate, she’s healthy. Ain’t you, Jan- 
ice Day?” 

“Ah — oh — ^yes, ma’am!” stammered Janice. ‘*I 
guess I am.” 

“Well, I don’t see the doctor going to your house 
none,” said Miss Peckham, in her snappy way. “I 
guess I would ha’ seen him if he’d called.” 

“Oh, yes,” agreed Janice, “you would have seen 
him.” 

“Heh?” Miss Peckham stared at the little girl 
sharply. But she saw that Janice was quite innocent 
in making her comment. “Well,” said the maiden 
lady, “this is Mrs. Watkins.” 

Considering this an introduction, Janice came 
forward and offered the faded looking woman her 
hand, Mrs. Watkins’ own hand reminded Janice of 


120 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


a dead fish, and she was quite as glad to drop it as 
Mrs. Watkins seemed to be to have it dropped. 

‘‘Oh, yes,” said the latter woman, “she is a pretty 
girl/’ 

“Mrs. Watkins has come to see me,” explained 
Miss Peckham. “She an’ I have been friends for 
years and years. We used to go to school together 
when we were girls.” 

“Oh!” said Janice. But she could think of 
nothing else to say. She did not understand why 
she was being taken into Miss Peckham’s confidence. 

“Yes, Sophrony Watkins and I — Sophrony Shep- 
ley was her maiden name. She married Tom Wat- 
kins — and Tom was a shiftless critter, if there ever 
iwas one.” 

Janice was startled. Miss Peckham seemed to be 
unnecessarily plain spoken. But the languid Mrs. 
Watkins made no comment. 

“And now Sophrony has come down to doin’ for 
herself,” went on the neighborhood censor. “I sent 
for her to come over here. She’s been livin’ in 
Marietteville. You tell your pa that we’ll come 
in to see him to-night after supper.” 

“Oh I” murmured Janice. Then she “remembered 
her manners,” and said, smiling: “Please dp. Miss 
Peckham. I will tell daddy you are coming.” 

Miss Peckham waved her hand to dismiss her 
young neighbor. “And if ’twas me,” she said com- 
placently to her companion, “first thing I’d do 


Mrs. Watkins 


I2I 


would be to cure that young one of calling her 
father ‘daddy.' That's silly." 

Even this remark did not forewarn Janice of what 
was coming. 

‘T just believe," she thought, going on her way, 
^‘that that faded-out little woman is a book agent 
and will want to sell daddy a set of books he'll never 
in this world read." 

But in getting dinner and tidying up the dining 
room and living room, Janice forgot all about Mrs. 
Sophronia Watkins. Janice was working very hard 
these days — much harder than any girl of her age 
should work. The evening before she had fallen 
asleep over her studies, and to-day her recitations 
had not been quite up to the mark. 

The lack of system in the housekeeping made 
everything harder for her, too. It was all right for 
daddy to help wash the dinner dishes, and e^en to 
blacken the range and the gas stove as he did on this 
evening, but there were dozens of things going 
wrong every day in the house which neither Janice 
nor her father could help. 

There were the provision bills. Janice knew very 
well that the butcher took advantage of her ignor- 
ance. She was always in a hurry in the morning, 
running to school; and she could not stop to see 
meat weighed, or vegetables properly picked out 
and measured. 

At Mr. Harriman's, the grocer's, it was not so 


[122 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


bad. There were certain articles of established 
standard that she knew her mother had always or- 
dered; but in the matter of butter and cheese and 
eggs, she realized that she often ordered the best, 
and got second or third quality and first-quality 
prices. 

Had she been able to spend the time marketing she 
would have conserved some of daddy's money and 
things' would have been much better on the table. 
Yet, with the kind of house workers they had had, 
much of the good food that was bought was spoiled 
in the cooking. 

Daddy sometimes said: ‘‘The Lord sends the 
food, but the cooks don't all come from heaven, 
that is sure, Janice." 

He was vigorously polishing the cookstove on this 
Wednesday evening and they were cheerfully talking 
and joking, when the sound of bootheels on the side 
porch announced the coming of visitors. 

“Oh, dear me! who can that be?" whispered Jan- 
ice. 

“Save me. My Lady — save me !" cried daddy, ap- 
pearing to be very much frightened, and dodging 
behind the stove. “Don't let the neighbors in until 
I have got rid of this blacking brush and got on my 
vest and coat " 

But the caller who now hammered on the door 
with quick knuckles was no bashful person. Mr. 
Day had no chance to escape from the kitchen. 


Mrs. Watkins 


123 


Miss Peckhawi turned the knob and walked right in. 

‘‘Come in, Sophrony,” she said, over her shoulder, 
to the person who came behind her. “You can see 
well enough that this man and his gal need some- 
body to take hold for ’em. Come right in.” 


CHAPTER XII 


THE faded-out LADY 

Janice was not as much surprised — at first — as 
her father was by the appearance of the spinster and 
Mrs. Watkins. She remembered that Miss Peckham 
had said she would call this evening, although the 
girl had not expected her at the back door. 

Their neighbor had managed to time her appear- 
ance at a rather inopportune moment, and when 
daddy rose up from behind the stove to confront the 
two women, in a voluminous apron and with a 
smutch across his cheek, Janice could not entirely 
smother her amusement. 

‘'Oh! Oh!” she giggled. “Good evening. Miss 
Peckham! This — ^this is Mrs. Watkins, Daddy,” 
and she directed her father’s attention to the faded- 
out lady. 

“Ahem ! I am glad to see you, Miss Peckham — - 
and Mrs. Watkins,” Mr. Day said, bowing in that 
nice way of his that Janice so much admired. Even 
with a blacking brush in one hand and a can of 
stove polish in the other, Mr. Broxton Day was very 
much the gentleman 


124 


The Faded-Out Lady 


125 


^‘You find us considerably engaged in domestic 
work/’ continued Mr. Day, a smile wreathing his 
lips and his eyes twinkling. “And if you don’t 
mind, I’ll finish my job before giving you my full 
attention. Janice, take Miss Peckham and her 
friend into the living room.” 

“Oh, no. You needn’t bother,” said Miss Peck- 
ham shortly. “Here’s chairs, and we can sit down. 
It’s int’resting to watch a man try to do housework, 
I’ve no doubt.” 

“You said something then. Miss Peckham,” said 
Mr. Day, cheerfully, and began industriously daub- 
ing the stove covers. 

“I brought Mrs. Watkins in here to see you, Mr. 
Day, ’cause I got your welfare and hers at heart,” 
pursued the spinster. 

That sounded rather ominous, and Mr. Day 
poised the dauber and stared doubtfully from his 
neighbor to the washed-out looking woman. 

“Mrs. Watkins is a widow,” went on Miss Peck- 

Mr. Day made a sympathetic sound with his lips, 
but fell to polishing now, making the stove covers 
rattle. Miss Peckham raised her voice a notch. 

“She’s a widow, and she’s seen trouble.” 

‘We’re born to it — as the sparks fly upward,’^ 
observed Mr. Day, under his breath. 

“Mrs. Watkins has come to an age when nobody 
can say she’s flighty, I sh’d hope,” continued Miss 


1126 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

Peckham. ‘‘She’s settled. And she’s got to earn 
her livin’.” 

“Now, Marthy!” objected Mrs. Watkins. 

“Well, ’tis so, Sophrony, ain’t it?” demanded her 
friend. 

“Oh, of course, expenses are heavy, and it’s de- 
sirable that I should — should — well, add to my in- 
come. But I’ve come to no great age, Marthy 
Peckham, I’d have you know!” 

“Oh, bosh, Sophrony!” ejaculated Miss Peck- 
ham. “Well, as I say, Mr. Day, Mrs. Watkins is 
a widow, and she needs a settled place.” 

“Just what are you trying to get at. Miss Peck- 
ham ? I don’t understand you,” asked Mr. Day, his 
face actually getting rather pale. 

Neither did Janice understand; but her father 
looked so funny that the girl giggled again. Miss 
Peckham gave her a reproving glance. 

“I sh’d think you’d understand your need well 
enough, Broxton Day,” she said sternly. First of 
all that gal ought to be learned manners. But that’s 
incidental, as you might say. What I am tellin’ you 
is, that here’s your chance to get a housekeeper 
that’ll amount to something.” 

“Oh ! Ah ! I see !” exclaimed Mr. Day in staccato 
fashion, and evidently very much relieved. “Mrs. 
Watkins is looking for a position?” 

“Well, she ought to be. But it does take a stick 


The Faded-Out Ladjj 127 

of dynamite to get her goin’, seems to me. Speak 
up, Sophrony!’’ 

‘Why, I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Day,’* said 
the faded-out lady, simpering. “I've been consid- 
erin' acceptin’ a position such as you have. Of 
course, I ain't used to working out " 

“Oh, fiddlesticks!" put in Miss Peckham, “he 
don't care nothin' about that, Sophrony. He can 
see you ain't no common servant." 

“Assuredly I can see that, Mrs. Watkins," said 
Mr. Day, suavely. “But do you think you would 
care to accept such a position as I can offer you?" 

“I should be pleased to try it," said Mrs. Wat- 
kins, with a sigh. “Of course, it would be a come- 
down for me " 

“Land's sake, Sophrony!" ejaculated her friend, 
“with me to sponsor you, I don’t guess anybody in 
this neighborhood will undertake to criticize.” 

“Wait a moment," said Mr. Day, and Janice was 
delighted to see that he was not entirely carried off 
his feet. “Let us understand each other. I pay so 
much a month," naming a fair sum, “and I expect 
the cooking and all the housework except the heavy 
washing done by whoever takes the place." 

“Well, now, Mr. Day," began Mrs. Watkins, 
"you see, I shouldn't expect to be treated just like 
an ordinary servant. Oh, no." 

“That's what I tell her,” snorted Miss Peckham. 


128 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

'Tolks that have had the off-scourings of the earth, 
like you have had, Broxton Day, in your kitchen, 
ain’t used to having lady-help about the house.” 

*‘1 hope Janice and I will appreciate Mrs. Wat- 
kins’ efforts, if she wishes to try the place,” Mr 
Day said, in rather a bewildered tone. 

"'That gal herself can do a good deal I sh’d think, 
morning and night. She ain’t helpless,” said Miss 
Peckham, staring at Janice. 

"Janice has her school work to do,” said Mr. Day 
firmly. "She takes care of her own room and does 
other little things. But unless Mrs. Watkins wishes 
to imdertake the full responsibility of the housework 
it would be useless for her to come.” 

He was firm on that point. The faded-out lady 
smiled feebly. "I am always willing to do as far as 
I can,” she sighed. "The work for three people can’t 
be so much. I am perfectly willing to try, Mr. Day. 
I’m sure nothin’ could be fairer than that.” 

Daddy and Janice looked at each other for an in- 
stant. It flashed through both their minds that the 
faded-out lady did not sound very encouraging. 
Later when the two had gone, daddy put away the 
blacking tools, saying: 

"Well, it will be a new experience, Janice. She is 
different from anybody we have ever had before.” 

"Oh, Daddy! I think she’s funny,” gasped the 
girl. 

He smiled at her broadly, shaking his head. "I 


The Faded-Out Lady 


129 


presume she does seem funny to you. But at least 
she is a ladylike person. We must treat her nicely.’* 

“Why, as though we wouldn’t!” gasped Janice. 

“But don’t offend her by showing her you are 
amused,” warned her father. “That may be hard, 
for it does strike me that Mrs. Sophronia Watkins 
is a character, and no mistake.” 

“I wouldn’t hurt her feelings for the world,” de- 
clared Janice. “But, Daddy, do you suppose it is 
rouge she has on her face? And does she use a lip- 
stick ?” 

“For goodness’ sake! where did you hear about 
such things ?” he laughed. 

“Why, of course I know something about ’most 
everything/* declared Janice, quite confidently. 
“And her face doesn’t look just natural.” 

“Don’t get too curious, Janice,” he said laughing. 
“If she can cook and keep the house clean, as far as 
I am concerned she can paint herself like a Piute 
chief.” 

One shock, however, Mr. Broxton Day was not 
exactly prepared for. Mrs. Watkins came to the 
house the next day for a late breakfast — which she 
got herself, Janice and her father having already 
cooked their own and eaten it. 

“I haven’t been used to getting up very early,” 
confessed the woman, preening a bit. “But, of 
course, I shall change my breakfast hour to con- 
form with yours.” 


130 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


'1 hope so,” said Broxton Day, hurrying away to 
business. 

He got the shock mentioned at night when he 
came to the dinner table. The table was very neatly 
set ; but there were three places. The meal was not 
elaborate but the food seemed to be cooked all right. 
Mrs, Watkins brought in the dishes and then sat 
down with Mr. Day and Janice to eat. 

Janice did not look at daddy, but her own face 
was rather red and she was uncomfortable. 

‘Your daughter,” said Mrs. Watkins severely, 
informs me that you have not been in the habit of 
having anybody at your table at meal time but your 
two selves. Of course, I could only engage to assist 
you here with the understanding that I am to be con- 
sidered one of the family.” 

“Why — er — ^yes; that will be all right,” Janice’s 
father said, though a bit doubtfully. “It would 
scarcely do to consider you, Mrs. Watkins, in the 
same category as the ordinary help Janice and I 
have had.” 

“I am glad you see it that way,” said the faded- 
out lady. And she was quite colorless at the mo- 
ment. It was evident that the rouge and lip-stick 
were used only on important occasions. 

“I am glad you see it that way,” she repeated. 
could consider no let-down as a lady, in accepting 
any position. Manual labor is no shame; but one 
must be true to one’s upbringing.” 


The Faded-Out Lady 13 1 

“Quite so, Mrs. Watkins— quite so,” agreed Mr. 
Day. 

“Janice, child,” said the woman quickly, “run out 
to the kitchen and get the rest of the potatoes. And 
see if the coffee is ready.” 

Her tone rather startled Janice; but she did as she 
was bade and that without even a glance at daddy. 

“I never consider I have had a real dinner,” Mrs. 
Watkins continued, “unless I have a bit of good 
cheese with it. I find none in the house, Mr. Day. 
Indeed,” she added, “your pantry sadly needs stock- 
ing up.” 

“Why — er — ^that may be so. We have been liv- 
ing a good deal ‘catch-as-catch-can,’ ” and he smiled 
upon her. “Give Janice a list of the things you need, 

and she will go to Harriman’s for you in the morn- 
*> 

ing. 

“No. I prefer to do my own marketing, always. 
A child like Janice — thank you Janice, for the pota- 
toes — can scarcely be expected to use judgment in 
the selection of provisions. You might telephone to 
the stores where you are in the habit of trading and 
inform them that I have charge of your household 
now. They will then expect me.” 

“Oh, well ! All right,” he said, but doubtfully. • 
“I have not yet brought my bag from Marthy’s, 
next door. I will go after it when dinner Is over, 
while Janice clears the table. I will send for my 
trunk, which Is at Marietteville, later.” 


132 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


“Suit yourself, Mrs. Watkins,” said Mr. Day. 

“Have you any choice as to which of the two 
empty bedrooms I consider mine?” the woman 
asked, heaping her plate a second time with food. 

“What's that?” asked Mr. Day, rather non- 
plussed. 

“Which chamber shall I sleep in?” she repeated, 
quite calmly. 

“Why — I — Really, Mrs. Watkins, isn't the 
small room beyond Janice's quite sufficient for 
you?” he asked, a little color coming into his face 
now. 

“Oh, my dear Mr. Day! I could not consider 
that for a moment. Why, that is the girl's room — 
merely a bedroom for the hired help. I could not 
possibly consider myself in the same class ” 

“Except on pay-day, Mrs. Watkins?” asked the 
man bluntly. 'We are glad to have you with us, of 
course; and we will consider your quite different 
status in the family, as you demand. But ” 

“No, Mr. Day,” Mrs. Watkins said with decision, 
interrupting him. “I could not contemplate for a 
moment occupying the girl's room. Why you might 
want it again any time.” 

“Not while you are with us,” said Mr. Day won- 
deringly. “I do not think I could afford to have 
two helpers.” 

“It does not matter,” said the faded-out lady 
stubbornly. “Janice, get the coffee now. It does not 


The Faded-Out Lady 


133 


matter. I refuse positively to sleep in that little, 
poked-up room. I prefer my 'windows opening to 
the east.'’ 

'Tut the east room is the one Mrs. Day always 
used,” said the man, with sudden hoarseness. "I 
cannot allow you to use that one. The spare cham- 
ber on the other side of the hall, if you insist.” 

"Very well,” said the woman with a small toss of 
her head. "Will you have a cup of coffee, Mr. 
Day?” 

"No, Mrs. Watkins. I prefer a cup of tea at din- 
ner time. A New England habit that has clung to 
me. 

"Indeed? Janice, go and make your father a cup 
of tea, that's a good child.” 

"Never mind, Janice,” said daddy quickly. "I do 
not wish it now. And, Mrs. Watkins.” 

"Yes, Mr. Day?” simpered the faded-out lady. 

"I wish it distinctly understood that Janice is to 
give her complete attention to her school work be- 
tween dinner and bedtime, unless she should chance 
to have more freedom during those hours than is 
usual. She will assist you as you may have need 
after school, and even in the morning before she 
goes to school. But the hours after dinner are for 
her school work. Do you quite understand me. 
Mrs. Watkins?” 

Mrs. Watkins’ pale, wrinkled face did not color 
in the least, nor did the washed-out brown eyes 


124 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


change their expression. But there was an added 
sharpness to the woman’s voice: 

“You object to Janice’s giving me a hand with the 
lighter tasks, Mr. Day?” she queried. 

“Not at all. But her education must not be 
neglected.” 

“Ah! I quite understand,” sniffed Mrs. Watkins. 
*You object to my going out this evening then? But 
I really must have my bag with my toilet requi- 
sites.” 

“I have no wish to restrict your use of the eve- 
ning, as long as your work is done,” said Mr. Day, 
rising from the table. “Come, Janice, it is time yon 
were at your books.” 

He led the way into the living room. Mrs. Wat- 
kins gave a violent sniff at their departure. Then 
•she finished her coffee. 


CHAPTER XIII 


STELLA’S PARTY 

It was not going to be altogether pleasant sailing 
with Mrs. Watkins in the house. Broxton Day saw 
that to be the fact, plainly and almost immediately. 
Janice had realized it even before her father had 
occasion to mark Mrs. Watkins’ most prominent 
characteristic. 

She was a person who was determined to take ad- 
vantage if she could. In the parlance of the section 
of the country from which Broxton Day hailed, she 
was one of those persons who ‘If you give ’em an 
inch they take an ell.’ 

From the first she made a strong attempt to carry 
things with a high hand. Mr. Day was almost sorry 
he had allowed her to come into the house. Mrs. 
Watkins did most of the housekeeping from her sta- 
tion in a rocking chair on the porch where she sat, 
wearing the mitts aforementioned. 

Her idea of keeping the house in order was to 
clean all the rooms that were not absolutely needed, 
and then close them up tight, draw the shades down 
and close the blinds, making of each an airless tomb 


135 


136 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

into which Janice was made to feel she must not 
enter for fear of admitting a speck of dirt. 

Most of the work was done on Saturday, when 
Janice was at home. There was no playtime now 
for the girl — ^none at all. 

But Janice would not complain. Mrs. Watkins 
could be very mean and petty, indeed ; but to daddy 
she showed her best side. And as far as he saw, the 
house was run much better than had been the case 
of late. 

Mrs. Watkins was ladylike in her demeanor. 
They became used to her sitting at the table with 
them and quite governing the trend of conversation 
at meals, as she did. Neither Janice nor her father 
liked to have the woman bring her tatting, which 
was her usual evening employment, into the living- 
room after dinner, for that was the only time when 
daughter and father could be confidential. But 
they did not see how they could overcome this an- 
noyance without ofiFendIng the woman. 

At the end of the month Mr. Day was startled by 
the increase in the household bills. Mrs. Watkins 
had served them rather better food, it was true, than 
they had been getting of late ; but a good many cut- 
lets, sweetbreads, chops and steaks, seemed never 
to have appeared on the dinner table. 

'T always feel the need of a hearty lunch, Mr. 
Day,” sniffed Mrs. Watkins. ^T really need it after 
doing the morning’s work. To keep one’s self in 


Stella’s Party 137 

condition is a duty we owe ourselves, don’t you 
think?” 

‘‘You seem to have stocked up pretty well with 
canned goods, Mrs. Watkins,” was Broxton Day’s 
rejoinder, now scanning the long memorandum 
from Harriman’s. “Dear, dear! French peas? And 
imported marmalade? And canned mushrooms? 
Do you use all these things, Mrs. Watkins?” 

“Oh, they are most useful, Mr. Day. One never 
knows when one may have company or wish to make 
a special dish. I have been used to the best, Mr. 
Day. Of course, if you wish to limit my pur- 
chases — ” and she sniffed. 

“Humph! I am not a rich man. We are not 
in the habit of using imported provisions of this 
quality. I expect you to buy good food and all that 
is sufficient. But such luxuries as these we cannot 
afford.” 

Mrs. Watkins merely sniffed again. Broxton 
Day, when he paid the bills at the stores, pointed out 
to Mr. Harriman and to the butcher that the goods 
bought seemed to cost considerably more than they 
previously had. 

“Why, Mr. Day, you are buying a different qual- 
ity of goods from what you have been used to,” said 
Harriman. “Here’s butter, for instance. That is 
our best — print butter, seven cents a pound higher 
than the tub butter you used to buy. Those eggs 
are selected white Leghorns, come to us sealed in 


138 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

boxes, and are fifteen cents more a dozen than ordi- 
nary fresh eggs.” 

The butcher told him something else. ‘Yes, you 
are getting the best grade of ever)rthing we carry, 
Mr. Day. That lady at your house evidently knows 
what she wants.” 

“Look here !” exclaimed Broxton Day, with some 
heat. “I haven’t suddenly become a millionaire. I 
can’t stand these prices. When she comes in here 
to buy, give her the grade of meat we have always 
had. And remember that I can’t, and won’t, pay 
for sweetbreads at a dollar and a half a pair.” 

“Why, bless you!” said the butcher, grinning, 
“I’ve never seen the lady. She always telephones. 
She’s some relative of yours, isn’t she, Mr. Day? 
She certainly does order high-handed.” 

“And she wanted to do the marketing herself,” 
groaned Broxton Day, as he went away after paying 
the bill. “I wonder what I am up against ? Things 
do go better at the house; but I wonder if I can 
stand the pressure.” 

He did not know how much Janice had to do with 
making things at the house go so much more 
smoothly. The little girl was determined that daddy 
should not be troubled by household matters if she 
could help it. 

With Olga Cedarstrom or the half-foolish Delia 
in the house, it was impossible to keep from daddy’s 
eyes the things that went wron§. Now it was differ- 


Stella’s Party 


139 


ent. Mrs. Watkins was very sly in making every- 
thing appear all right before Broxton Day. On the 
other hand Janice showed an equal amount of sly- 
ness (of which she had been previously accused!) 
in helping hide the numerous things that would have 
troubled daddy. 

There was waste in the kitchen. Mrs. Watkins 
was a big eater, but a delicate eater. She never 
wished to see the same thing on the table twice. A 
poor family could have been fed fairly well from 
what the woman flung into the garbage. 

Janice had never been used to seeing such reck- 
lessness, even when only an ignorant servant was 
doing the work. At those times food was bought 
with a less lavish hand. Now there was seldom any- 
thing left, so Mrs. Watkins said, from one meal to 
warm up for another. 

‘T don’t know what to do — I really don’t,” Janice 
confessed to Amy Carringford who, by this time; 
had become her very closest friend and confidante. 
^‘Daddy has many business troubles, I know. It 
bothers him greatly to be annoyed by household mat- 
ters. And he ought not to be so annoyed. But that 
woman !” 

*Tt is too bad, honey,” An y said. wish my 
mother could help you. She knows everything about 
housekeeping.” 

know that is so,” agreed Janice. wish Mrs. 
Watkins was a lady like your mother, Amy. Then 


140 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

the house would go all right and daddy needn’t be 
bothered at all. I feel I ought to do something; but 
I don’t know what.” 

Aside from cooking the meals, which she did very 
nicely, it must be confessed, Mrs. Watkins gradual- 
ly allowed most of the responsibility for the house- 
work to slide on to Janice’s young shoulders. 

The young girl got up an hour earlier than usual, 
and she busied herself sweeping and dusting and 
making beds right up to the minute she had to seize 
her books and lunch and run to school. She was 
quite sure that Mrs. Watkins went back to bed after 
breakfast, and really did little towards keeping the 
house in order until afternoon. 

And if there was any scrubbing, or hard work to 
do, that was left until Saturday. Nobody ever saw 
Mrs. Watkins on her knees, unless it was at her 
devotions ! 

However, Janice Day was too sanguine to be 
made melancholy by these affairs. She was of a 
naturally cheerful nature — an attribute she inherit- 
ed from her father. It took more than the faded-out 
lady to cause the girl overwhelming anxiety. 

The stroke that had been the hardest for her to 
bear since her mother’s death was the loss of the 
treasure-box and the heirlooms in it. Whether or 
not the Swedish girl, Olga Cedarstrom, had carried 
the valuables away with her, Janice felt all the time 
that she had only herself to blame because of the 


Stella’s Party 141 

loss. And she realized that the loss of the packet of 
letters had saddened daddy dreadfully. 

‘‘If I had not been careless ! If I had put the box 
back into the wall-safe before I went to bed ! If I 
had remembered when I saw Arlo Junior and the 
cats! Dear me/’ murmured Janice more than once, 
“ ‘If/ ‘if/ ‘if !’ If the rabbit hadn’t stopped for a nap 
beside the track, the tortoise would not have won the 
race.” 

“But, what under the sun,” Gummy Carringford 
asked, “could have become of Olga and her fella? 
That is certainly a mystery.” 

With Amy and her brother, the boy with the odd 
name, Janice often discussed the lost treasure-box. 
She and daddy did not speak so much together about 
it as at first. It seemed to be hopelessly lost* 

With the Carringfords Janice had become very 
friendly, as has been said. In the first place, Mrs. 
Carringford very much liked Janice Day. And how 
could she and her children help but be grateful to 
the little girl who lived at eight-forty-five Knight 
Street ? 

The birthday party at Stella Lathams’ house was 
now at hand. Mrs. Carringford had not yet been 
able to make over Mr. Day’s clothes to fit Gummy ; 
and he was not invited to the party, anyway. He 
was one grade in advance of the three girls in 
school, and Stella considered this excuse enough for 
not inviting him to her birthday fete. But Amy 


[142 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker I 

i 

was radiant in the pink and white frock Janice had 
donated. 

‘'Never mind,” said Gummy, who was of a cheer- 
ful spirit, too. "I"m glad the party will be on Friday j 

instead of Saturday night. Fll be out of the store j 

early enough Friday night to come to the Latham | 
place to beau you girls home.” I 

"Maybe well have beaux of our own and won’t i 
want you,” said Amy roguishly. i 

"Don’t mind what she says, Gummy,” cried Jan- i 
ice. "I won’t have any beau but you. I shall ex- 
pect you. So don’t fail me.” 

Stella Latham’s expectations had been high, in- | 
deed, regarding her party ; nor was she disappointed. | 
Her father and mother had done ever 3 d;hing they | 
thought would please their only daughter ; and sure- | 
ly the cost had not been considered. jj 

The house, and the grounds around it, were | 

charmingly lighted — the outside lamps being those | 

gaudy and curious forms containing lighted candles, | 

and called Japanese lanterns. 

The Latham place on the Dover pike, was one of ij 

the show places of the countryside. Mr. Latham i 

was wealthy and could well afford to give his daugh- j 

ter’s friends an entertainment that might better, per- | 

haps, have been offered older guests. .j 

Stella was growing up too fast. Because she was t 
aping older and foolishly fashionable folk, she was f 
becoming an exacting, precocious girl — not at all j. 


Stella’s Party 143 

the innocent and joyous child she should have been 
at fourteen years of age. 

Her mother feared that all was not right with 
Stella; yet she was too weak and easy-going a 
woman to correct her daughter with a strong hand. 
She had observed Janice Day on two occasions 
when the latter had come with other young friends 
of Stella’s to the house, and had commented favor- 
ably upon Janice’s character. 

‘There is a girl you might pattern after, Stella, 
and it would do you good,” said the somewhat un- 
wise Mrs. Latham. 

“Humph! I don’t see why you say that, Ma,*^ 
said Stella. “Janice Day isn’t half as pretty as 
Mary Pierce. And she dresses in half mourning be- 
cause of her mother’s death. She hasn’t got any 
style about her.” 

“She is a very shrewd and sensible young per- 
son,” declared Mrs. Latham. “I wish you were 
more like her.” 

It was from this remark that Stella had derived 
the statement that Janice was “sly.” That term, 
quite justly, might have been applied to Stella. For 
Stella would have cared very little if neither Janice 
nor Amy Carringford had come to the birthday 
party. 

Only Mr. Latham had insisted that his daughter 
should invite every girl in her grade at school. He 
was wiser than his wife. 


144 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

‘You don't want any ill-feelings among your 
mates," he told Stella. 

Janice Day, therefore, whether “shrewd" or 
“sly,” had helped Stella in the matter of fulfilling 
Mr. Latham's command. Amy, as sweet as a rose, 
appeared in the pretty pink and white dress that had 
been made by the dear fingers of Janice's mother. 

At first Janice could scarcely look at her friend 
in the frock without feeling the tears start to her 
eyes. But, then, she knew that mother would have 
approved fully of this gift she had made. And Amy 
Carringford was good and attractive. 

There was such a large number of young folks at 
the Latham place that evening that when it came 
time for the refreshments, every one of the farmer's 
hired help was called in, either as waiters or in the 
kitchen. 

It took a good many waiters, too, for there were 
many steps to be taken back and forth to the kitchen. 
Mr. Latham had had a large canvas canopy stretched 
out in one corner of the yard, and under this were 
set the tables. And pretty, indeed, did they look 
under the soft lights of the numerous candles in 
their shiny whiteness of heavy napery, polished sil- 
ver, dainty porcelain, and brilliant cutglass. 

What appealed more, however, to the hearty ap- 
petites of the young people were the quantities of 
sandwiches, the olives and pickles and the bowls of 
salad, the rich cakes, the heaps of ice-cream, the 


Stella’s Party 


1^5 

hot chocolate. The Lathams were lavish at all 
times, and when they gave a formal party the table 
was heaped with the richest and most delicious food 
they could provide. No wonder it took many hands 
to make things run smoothly. 

'"Goodness said Stella, within hearing of Janice 
and Amy, "there’s such a crowd in that kitchen 
you’ve no idea ! And some of the help are perfectly 
useless ! You know, mother had the folks come up 
from both tenant houses to help, and one of the 
women — ^the Swedish one — has just broken one of 
mother’s biggest cutglass dishes.” 

"I thought I heard a crash out there,” said Janice. 

"It is too bad,” Amy added. "Of course the 
woman did not mean to.” 

"Well !” sniffed Stella, "that won’t make the dish 
whole. It’s worth money, too.” 

"Dear me,” said Amy reflectively, "I guess Swed- 
ish girls must be bad luck. You know, it was a 
Swedish girl that stole that box from Janice.” 

"What box?” asked Stella, quickly. "A jewel 
box?” 

"All the jewelry I owned,” said Janice, with 
rather a rueful smile. "But more than that. Mother’s 
miniature — and other things. At least, we suppose 
that Olga took the box when she left us so hurriedly.” 

"Olga!” exclaimed Stella. "Fancy! You don’t 
mean that was her name?” 


1^6 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


‘Yes, ‘Olga* she was called,** Janice said wonder- 
ingly. 

“That’s the name of this girl that broke the dish/’ 

“Why, how funny!” exclaimed Amy. 

“That’s not funny,” rejoined Janice seriously. 
“Is she named Olga Cedarstrom ?” 

“Goodness! I don’t know her last name. She 
comes from one of our tenant houses. It’s far away. 
Mother sent her home with a flea in her ear, now 
I tell you, after she had broken that dish/* 

Janice was disturbed. “I wish you knew her last 
name. What sort of looking girl is she? Are you 
sure she has already left the house?” 

“Come on !” cried Amy, jumping up. “Let’s run 
around there and see. Take us to the kitchen door, 
Stella.” 

“Well, yes. We can look. But I guess she has 
gone,” said the farmer’s daughter. 

They had been sitting on the front porch. Stella 
led them quickly around to the rear of the big house. 


CHAPTER XIY; 


COULD IT BE OLGA? 

It was a beautiful evening, this of Stella Latham’s 
birthday party. It was not often that the climate 
gave the people of Greensboro, thus early in the 
season, such a soft and temperate night. 

There was no moon, but the stars plentifully be- 
sprinkled the heavens, and their light bathed the 
area surrounding the Latham house, beyond the 
radiance of the Japanese lanterns, sufficiently for 
the three girls to see objects at some distance. 

Before they reached the back door of the farm- 
house, Amy cried aloud : 

''Oh, girls! what’s that? A ghost?” 

"Ghost your granny!” exclaimed Stella. "That 
is somebody running along the hedge in a white 
skirt.” 

"It is a woman or a girl,” Janice agreed, staring 
at the rapidly moving figure. "Is there a path 
there?” 

"That is the path to one tenant house. Wait till 
i ask Anna, the cook.” 

She hurried to the back door, and her two friends, 


147 


148 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

waiting at the pasture-lane bars, heard her ask if 
the woman who had broken the dish had gone. 

“The awkward thing!'’ exclaimed Anna, the 
cook. “She's just this minute left." 

“What is her name, Anna?" asked Stella, know- 
ing that Janice was deeply interested. 

“I don't know. Miss. Some outlandish Swedish 
name." 

“Olga?" 

“Humph! Maybe!" 

“Olga Cedarstrom?" 

“Goodness me! don't ask me what else besides 
'Olga' she is named," said the irritable cook, “for 
I couldn’t tell you. I couldn't tell you my own 
name, scarcely, to-night. I'm that flurried." 

Hearing all this plainly, Janice murmured to 
Amy: “I wish I dared follow her. Suppose it 
should be Olga?" 

“Well, she is going right to that small house that 
belongs to Mr. Latham. Stella says she lives there, 
whoever she is." 

Just then a figure popped up beside them. Gum- 
my's cheerful voice demanded: 

“What's the trouble, girls ?" 

“Oh!" cried Janice. 

“Goodness!" said the boy’s sister. ‘'How you 
scare one. Gummy! Why, it isn’t near time to go 
home.” 

“I got off earlier than I expected. So I came out 


Could It Be Olga? 149 

and have been hanging around at the back here for 
half an hour/’ 

“Oh, Gummy! did you see that woman?” Janice 
asked, seizing his jacket sleeve. 

“What woman?” 

“See there!” cried his sister, pointing. “That 
white thing going over the hill.” 

“Yes, I saw her. She came out of the kitchen, 
and she was crying. They had a row in there.” 

“Oh, Gummy! what did she look like?” mur- 
mured Janice. 

“Yes, Gummy, tell us, quick !” urged his sister. 

“I tell you she was crying, and she had her hand- 
kerchief up to her face. So I did not see much of 
it. But her hair was ’lasses color, and she had it 
bobbed back so tight that I guess she couldn’t shut 
her eyes until she undid it,” chuckled Gummy. 

“Oh, Amy!” ejaculated Janice, with clasped 
hands, “that is the way Olga used to do her hair.” 

“Not Olga, the Swede, who robbed you?” de- 
manded the boy, interested at once. 

“Yes. It might be Olga. If you had only seen 
ner face ” 

“I’ll see her face all right,” declared Gummy, 
starting off. “I’ll tell you just where she goes and 
what she looks like. Don’t you girls go home with- 
out me.” 

He was gone on the track of the flying woman 
like a dart. He was out of sight, being In dark gar- 


[I '50 Janice Day, tfie Young Homemaker 


ments, before Stella came back from the kitchen 
door. 

‘Don’t tell her about Gummy,” whispered Amy 
quickly. “She’ll think, maybe, that he’s been hang- 
ing around like those strange boys over the fence 
in front.” 

“Not a word,” agreed Janice, smiling. “I 
wouldn’t give Gummy away.” 

“There isn’t anybody in the kitchen who knows 
that girl very well,” said Stella, who was really 
showing herself interested in Janice Day’s trouble. 
“I asked them all. This girl, Olga, is staying with 
Mrs. Johnson. Mrs. Johnson has a little baby to 
care for and couldn’t come to-night. So this friend 
of hers came up to help. And she helped all right !” 
concluded Stella, with emphasis. “That dish is in 
a thousand pieces.” 

“Isn’t it too bad?” said Amy, sympathetically. 

“It’s a mean shame,” Stella declared. “I bet 
she’d steal. You’d better come over here to-morrow 
and find her. I’ll bring you back in the auto with 
me after I go shopping, and we’ll ride around by 
Mr. Johnson’s house. He’s one of father’s farmers, 
you know.” 

“I’ll tell daddy,” Janice said, but in some doubt. 
“I’m awfully much obliged to you, Stella. You 
are real kind.” 

This pleased Stella Latham. She liked being 


Could It Be Olga? 151 

praised, and as long as kindness did not cost her 
much of anything, she was glad to be kind. 

The entertainment of her boy and girl friends 
continued gaily, despite the breaking of the big 
cut-glass dish. It was almost eleven o’clock when 
the party broke up and the guests began to leave, 
shouting their congratulations to Stella as they went. 

Janice and Amy Carringford found Gummy 
waiting for them at the front gate. 

‘^Oh, Gummy!” whispered Janice, ‘‘did you see 
her?” 

“Sure,” declared the boy. “That’s what I went 
after, wasn’t it ? A sight of the Swedish girl’s phis- 
amahogany ?” 

“Gummy!” remonstrated his sister. 

“But was it Olga?” demanded Janice, too deeply 
interested in the subject of Olga to be patient with 
sisterly reproof. 

“Oh, say! how can I be sure of that? I never 
saw her before.” 

“Tell us all about it. Gummy,” urged Janice. 

“Why, you see,” said the excited boy. “I ran’s 
hard as I could and I overbrook that girl at the 
took.” 

“What? What? ” gasped Janice. “Say that 
again. Gummy.” 

I ” 

His sister went off iaito a gale of laughter. “Oh, 


152 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


Gummy!'’ she cried, ‘*you ‘overbrook’ her at the 
‘took,’ did you? Your tongue’s twisted again.” 

“Oh, pshaw!” exclaimed Gummy. “Of course, 
I mean I overtook her at the brook.” 

“That’s better,” giggled Amy. “But you did get 
awfully ‘gummed up,’ Gummy, didn’t you?” 

“Huh!” he snorted. 

“He’s the most awful boy you ever saw, Janice. 
He is always getting twisted in his talk.” 

“Like the young man in church who asked the 
girl if he could ‘occupew a seat in this pie?’ ” 

“Even worse than that,” cried Amy, much to her 
brother’s disgust. “Why, years ago when we lived 
in Napsburg, where the twins were born, he made 
an awful mistake — and to our minister, too.” 

“Aw,” objected Gummy, “can’t you keep anything 
to yourself?” 

“Go on,” urged Janice. 

“Now, I say!” again protested the boy. 

“Listen, Janice!” giggled Amy. “It’s awfully 
funny. The minister met Gummy on the street and 
asked him what we had decided to call the twins. 

“ ‘You know, I expect to christen them, Gums- 
with,’ he said to Gummy, ‘and I want to be sure to 
get the names right. What are they?’ 

“And what do you suppose Gummy said?” 

“I am sure I couldn’t guess,” Janice declared. 
“Let’s see: the twins are Sydney and Kate, aren’t 
they?’‘ 


Could It Be Olga? 


153 


“That is right/’ giggled Amy. “But Gummy told 
the minister we had decided to call them ‘Kidney 
and Steak’!” 

Janice herself was convulsed with laughter at 
this. Gummy was annoyed about it. 

“Why don’t you keep something to yourself once 
in a while, Amy?” he growled to his sister. “Janice 
will think I’m a perfect chump.” 

“Come on now, Gummy,” Janice interrupted 
cheerily. “You are keeing something to yourself 
that I very much want to know.” 

“Oh ! About that Swede ! Amy knocked it clear 
out of my head,” declared the boy. 

“Well, let us hear about it,” urged Janice. 

“Why, I overtook the girl at the brook,” said 
Gummy, getting the statement right this time. “She 
might be just the girl you are looking for, from 
what you told me about her looks. I saw her face 
plainly when I passed her.” 

“Where did she go?” 

“To that little house at the end of the farm road, 
just where it opens into the turnpike. Oh, I’ve seen 
the place before. I drove out past there the other 
day for Mr. Harriman.” 

“That must be the Johnson’s house,” Janice said. 
“That is what Stella said the tenant’s name was.” 

“Well, she went in there,” said Gummy. “She 
seemed in a dreadful hurry. She pounded on the 
door, and she called to them in Swedish. I waited 


154 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker. 


behind the hedge until she got in and the family was 
quieted down again.” 

‘That’s good! It’s ’most sure to be Olga, Jan- 
ice, and you can see her to-morrow and get your 
box back — ^at least, find out where it is,” said Amy 
encouragingly. 

“Well, ril tell daddy,” sighed Janice. “It may 
be the same Olga. I hope so. And if she has got 
my box of treasures — well ! I’ll forgive her anything 
if I only get back mother’s picture and daddy’s 
letters.’^’ 


CHAPTER XVi 


THE LOST TRAIL 

Mr. Day had not yet gone to bed when the young 
folks reached the house ; but Mrs. Watkins had long 
since retired. The light in the living room assured 
Janice that her father awaited her return, and bid- 
ding Amy and Gummy good-night at the gate, she 
ran into the house in great excitement. 

*‘Oh, Daddy? Daddy! Guess!** she cried to him. 
"Just think ! She broke a big cutglass dish, and 
Fm ’most sure Tt’s Olfra— ” 

^Wait!** exclaimed Mr. Day, putting up both 
hands. "Mercy, I pray, my dear. I don’t know 
what you are talking about.** 

"But you know Olga, Daddy!’* 

*To my sorrow," he groaned. *Tt can’t be that 
you have found out anything about that Swedish 
girl? I have been searching Pickletown again this 
evening.** 

"Oh, Daddy!" she cried, "maybe Olga is just 
where you can find her to-morrow. And she did 
break one of Mrs. tatham’s very best dishes, and — ’’ 
*TCet us hear all about this in due order," laughed 


155 


156 ianice Day, the Young Homemaker 


Broxton Day. “I can see that you are far too much 
excited to go promptly to bed. Explain yourself, 
my dear.^' 

When he had heard it all, he did not appear to be 
as much impressed as Janice expected him to be. It 
was a small chance, in his opinion, that the girl who 
had broken Mrs. Latham’s dish was the same Olga 
who had for two months held sway in the Day 
kitchen. 

''But we will make a pilgrimage to the cottage on 
the back of the Latham farm,” Daddy promised. 
"If I can get away from the bank early to-morrow 
afternoon, we will go. I know the place, and there 
is a family of Swedish people living there. Of 
course, by chance, it might be Olga your friend 
Gummy followed home.” 

"Oh, no! It would be providential. Daddy,” 
Janice declared, smiling. "You say yourself that 
Providence is not chance.” 

"True,” he agreed, with gravity. "If we get 
back the treasure-box, with all in it, I shall be very, 
very thankful indeed, and shall consider it a provi- 
dential happening.” 

"Daddy, dear!” whispered Janice. 

It was at these times, when they spoke of the lost 
treasures, that Janice was so heart-stricken because 
of daddy’s expression of countenance. Those letters 
from her dear, dead mother, which her father prized 
so highly, were continually In Broxton Day’s mind. 


iTHe Lost Trail 


157 

She realized it was a loss that time would hardly 
mend. 

‘'And all my fault! All my f^ult!” she sobbed 
when she was alone in her bedroom. "Had I not 
been so dreadfully careless Olga would never have 
got hold of that box when she was mad and run off 
with it. And suppose she doesn’t think the things 
in it are worth much? She might throw them 
away !” 

So, despite the good time they had had at Stella 
Latham’s party, Janice went to bed in no happy 
frame of mind. 

Saturday was bound to be a very busy day ; and 
Janice did not wake up early. Daddy left a note for 
her on the table saying he would be at home with 
some kind of a conveyance not long after the bank 
closed at one o’clock. 

She knew what that meant. They were to ride 
out to the Johnson house and make inquiries for the 
girl, Olga. Janice was sorry she had slept so late, 
for Mrs. Watkins expected her to do what she 
termed "her share” of the work. 

"If your pa lets you sit up till all hours, so that 
you're not fit for anything in the morning, should I 
be blamed?” complained the faded-out lady. "I’m 
sure I have enough to do every day, and all day. I 
have got to have some help on Saturdays and that 
is all there is to it.” 

Janice knew well enough that the reason the wort 


158 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

piled up so upon the last day of the week was be- 
cause it was allowed to accumulate through the other 
days. But the kitchen floor did have to be scrubbed. 
It was a sight ! 

' If the woman would only mop it every other day 
it would not be so bad; but it seemed to Janice that 
Mrs. Watkins would just wade through dirt to her 
knees in the kitchen before she would use either 
mop or scrubbing brush. 

It was true that daddy did not often look into the 
kitchen, now that there was somebody supposedly 
capable of keeping the room, as well as the rest of 
the house, in order. And Janice was glad he did not 
look around the house much. 

Such training as she had enjoyed under her 
mother’s eye had made Janice thorough. Mrs. Day 
had been a thoroughly good housekeeper. 

And she had always kept so well up with her 
housework that there were never any difficult jobs 
left to haunt one, and her house looked always neat. 
Nor was she obliged to keep half her prettily fur- 
nished rooms shut up to keep them clean ! 

Janice did all she could on this short Saturday 
morning. She had first of all to he sure that daddy’s 
room was dusted — every bit. Then there were the 
halls and stairs to do. After those, the porches must 
be swept. 

*Tor you know,” sighed Mrs. Watkins, ”it looks 


The Lost Trail 


IS9 

so much better for a child like you to be out sweep- 
ing the porch and paths than what it would me.” 

Janice could not quite understand this reasoning. 
But she knew it must be a deal easier for Mrs. Wat- 
kins to rock in a chair in the house than to wield the 
broom. That went without saying. 

She did not think of lunch, although the faded- 
out lady did not neglect her own. Janice was down 
on her hands and knees, with scrubbing brush and 
pail, when the housekeeper carried some savory dish 
or other into the dining room. 

presume since you had your breakfast so late 
you will not care to eat now,” said the woman. 

To tell the truth, a tear or two dropped into the 
strong soda water in the pail. 

‘‘Though I don’t believe salt will help start the 
grease-spots on this floor,” Janice thought, rubbing 
her eyes with the wrist of one hand. “There ! I am 
a regular cry-baby. I said I would do something to 
relieve daddy of bothering about the housework. 
And if scrubbing a floor is the best I can do—” 

Suddenly a shadow appeared at the door. Janice 
looked up and squealed. There was daddy himself 
— at least an hour and a half too early. 

“Well, well!” exclaimed Broxton Day, rather 
sternly, “what is the meaning of this?” 

“Dirt on the floor boards — scrubbing brush — 
elbow grease,” retorted his daughter, making vigor- 


fi6o Janice Day, tKe Young Homemaker 

ous explanatory motions. “Didn't you ever see a 
'scrub lady' before, Daddy ?” 

“Humph ! so there is a Cinderella in the house is 
there?" he said. 

Mrs. Watkins opened the dining-room door. She 
was swallowing a mouthful which seemed to go 
down hard. Mr. Day's unexpected appearance dis- 
turbed her. 

“Oh, Mr. Day," she cried, feebly, “have — have 
you had your lunch ?" 

“I have, Mrs. Watkins," he replied. Then to 
Janice: “No matter how much you may like to scrub 
floors, my dear, you will have to leave this one for 
Mrs. Watkins to finish. There is a car at the door. 
I have borrowed it for a couple of hours, and you 
must make haste and put on something different and 
come with me to look for Olga." 

“Well," Janice got up from her knees slowly. 

“Hurry," said daddy sternly. And he stood and 
waited until Janice went out of the room. 

“So you will not have lunch, Mr. Day?" asked 
Mrs. Watkins coolly. 

“No. But there is one thing I will have, Mrs. 
Watkins," he said sternly. “I will have you at- 
tend to your work, and not put it on Janice, while 
you remain here !" 

“I do not understand you, sir," said the woman, 
her nose in the air. 

*'Let me make myself plalil then," said Broxton 



“Well, Well!” exclaimed Broxton Day, rather 
sternly, “what is the meaning of this.” 




The Lost Trail 


i6i 

Day. ‘'I will not pay you wages to shift such work 
as this/^ pointing to the scrub-pail, “upon my 
daughter. I want that understood here and now. I 
can no longer give you carte blanche at the grocery 
and provision store. I will do the marketing my- 
self hereafter. You will furnish the lists.” 

“Sir?” ejaculated Mrs. Watkins haughtily. 

“I have kept tabs on the accounts this last week. 
In no seven days since I was married have the ex- 
penses for the table been half what they have been 
this week.” 

“I am not used to a poverty-stricken household, 
Mr. Day!” sneered Mrs. Watkins. 

“But you soon will be,” Broxton Day told her 
grimly, “if I let you have a free hand in this way. 
I am not a rich man, and I soon will be a poor one 
at this rate.” 

“I want you to understand, Mr. Day, that no 
lady can demean herself ” 

“Wait a moment,” said the man, still grimly. “I 
did not hire you to be a lady. I hired you to do the 
housework. I can’t have you here unless you keep 
your share of the contract. Please remember that, 
Mrs. Watkins.” 

He left her abruptly and walked through to the 
front of the house. He saw that at her place on the 
dining table was the remains of a broiled squab- 
chicken — ^a very tasty bit for a hard working woman 
like Mrs. Watkins. 


[ i 62 Janice Day, lEe Young Homemaker 

‘‘Are you ready, daughter?” he called up the stair- 
way. 

“Just a minute or two, Daddy,” replied Janice. 

She felt that they were in trouble again. All she 
had tried to do to keep him from knowing just how 
badly things about the house were going had been 
for naught. 

But she winked back the tears and “practised a 
smile” in her looking glass before she ran down to 
join daddy on the porch. There was a big touring 
car out in front. Janice knew it belonged to the 
vice-president of the Farmers and Merchants Bank. 

“Oh, what a fine car, Daddy!” she whispered, 
clinging to his hand. “Let’s play it is ours — ^while 
we are in it, of course.” 

“Would you like to Have a car, my dear?” he 
asked her, as they settled themselves in the tonneau, 
and the driver started the machine. 

“Oh I” she cried. “I could just jump out of my 
skin when I think of it! Every time I ride with 
Stella Latham I’m just as covetous as I can be. I 
guess T am real wicked, Da’ddy.** 

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” he returned, smiling. 
“It would be nice to have all the comforts and the 
luxuries of the rich — ^without their troubles.” 

‘^TM-mm!” said Janice. “But even their troubles 
can’t be so bad. Not as bad as poor people’s 
troubles.” 

“Like ours?” he returned, smiling down at her. 


The Lost Trail 163 

‘Tt is a fact that we cannot keep a hired girl. WeTe 
not as lucky as the man I heard of who was boast- 
ing of having kept a cook a whole month. But it 
seemed that that month his house was quarantined 
for scarlet fever.” 

‘'Oh, Daddy!” giggled Janice. ‘‘Let’s get a yel- 
low, or a red, card from the Board of Health, and 
tack it up outside the door.” 

“And so keep Mrs. Watkins, whether or no? I 
am not sure that we can stand her, my dear.” 

“We-ell, there are worse,” Janice confessed. 

“And we have had them,” commented her father 
rather grimly. “Ah, that’s the little house where the 
Johnsons live!” 

“Oh, dear me ! If it should be our Olga !” 

“We’ll know about that pretty soon,” said Mr. 
Day comfortingly. “Stop here, Harry.” 

The car was halted, and Mr. Day jumped out 
and went up to the house. When he knocked a 
tall, pale woman, with a little baby in her arms, 
opened the narrow door. It took but a glance to 
reveal her nationality. 

“You bane want my hoosban’?” asked the Swed- 
ish woman. 

“No, Mrs. Johnson,” replied Mr. Day. “I came 
to inquire about a young woman that I believe is 
staying here.” 

“No vooman here but me,” declared the other, 
shaking her head vigorously. 


164 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


'‘What? Haven’t you a friend here named 
Olga?” 

“Olga bane gone,” declared the woman sullenly. 

“Gone away!” exclaimed Mr. Day. “Since last 
evening?” 

“She bane gone.” 

“Are you Mrs. Johnson?” asked the man, earnest- 

ly- 

“My name bane Yonson — yes,” she agreed. “I 
don’t know nottin’ ’bout Olga. She bane gone. She 
did not mane to break dish, anyway.” 

“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Day, remembering what 
Janice had told him about the accident at the Lath- 
am’s the evening before. “We have not come about 
the dish. It is for another matter entirely that we 
wish to find Olga.” 

“I not know where Olga bane go,” pursued Mrs. 
Johnson, shaking her head vigorously. 

“She went away this morning, then?” 

“Yah. She bane go dis mornin’.” 

“Is her name Olga Cedarstrom?” 

“No! No!” exclaimed Mrs. Johnson, shaking her 
head vigorously. “You not b’know dis Olga. She 
’nudder girl.” 

“Where is your husband?” asked Mr. Day hope- 
lessly. “Perhaps he can tell me more about her.” 

‘Won Yonson gone to Dover,” declared his wife, 
suddenly shutting the door and leaving Mr. Broxton 
Day outside on the step. 


CHAPTER XVI 


A LETTER FROM PCKETOWN 

'Tt looks as though we had come upon a fool's 
errand/' said Mr. Day, coming back to the car and 
his daughter. ‘‘Mrs. Johnson says that girl was not 
named Cedarstrom, and that she has already gone 
away." 

“Do you suppose it is the truth, Daddy?" asked 
the anxious Janice. 

“Well, it is probably the truth. All Olgas are 
not named ‘Cedarstrom,' of course. And I fancy 
the girl was frightened because of the broken cut- 
glass dish and escaped early this morning." 

“Why?" Would Mrs. Latham try to make her 
pay for it?" 

“Perhaps. At least, this mysterious Olga thought 
she would be made to pay for the dish. Or perhaps 
she feared arrest. Sometimes these foreigners are 
very ignorant regarding our laws. She might easily 
have been frightened away." 

“But if she is our Olga 

“This woman here is stubborn. She will prob- 
ably tell us nothing more about her friend. And 


165 


1 66 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

she said flatly that the name was not Cedarstrom.” 

*‘Oh, dear!"’ sighed Janice, *'it is too, too bad.” 

**lt is too bad thab the trail seems lost. I will 
try to see Mr. Johnson himself. We will make sure 
that the girl was not the one we are after. But, you 
see, we are inquiring for Olga for a reason that is 
likely to frighten her and her friends. I think 
some of those people over in Pickletown might tell 
me more than they do about Olga and that Willie 
Sangreen.” 

“It is just too bad !” half sobbed Janice. “I hoped 
we should find the treasure-box this time.” 

“Have patience. Rome was not built in a day,” 
said her father. 

“We’re not building Rome,” the girl retorted, but 
trying to smile again. “I guess even that was an 
easier job than finding a lost Swedish girl.” 

“Don’t worry, honey.” 

“But I can’t help worrying,” said Janice, sobbing 
again. 

“You are overwrought, my dear. Don’t let your 
mind run upon unpleasant things. That treasure- 
box ” 

“Will never be found. Daddy!” cried his little 
daughter. “I am sure! And if it isn’t found I 
don’t — don’t — ^know — what — I — shall — do.” 

He put his arm about her and hugged Janice tight 
against his side. “Don’t lose hope so easily. And 


A Letter From Poketown 


167 

see here! Here is something new I forgot to tell 
you/’ 

‘What is it, Daddy?” she asked, as he began to 
search an inner pocket of his coat. 

“A letter. From your Aunt Almira. Just listen 
to it” 

“Oh, Daddy! From Aunt Almira in — in Poke- 
town ?” 

“Yes. My half-brother's wife — and a good soul 
she is.” 

He drew the letter from its envelope and unfolded 
it. He began to read the epistle with a smile wreath- 
ing his lips, for Aunt Almira's communication was 
unintentionally funny: 

“ ‘Dear Brocky: 

“‘Jase won't never get around to writing you, 
far as I see, so I had better do so before you get the 
suspicion that we are all dead. We might as well 
be — and buried, too, here in Poketown — for it is 
right next door to a cemetery for deadness, I do 
believe. You know what it was when you was lucky 
enough to get out of it twenty years ago. Well, it 
is worse now. There has been nothing new in 
Poketown since you went away, excepting the town 
pump’s been painted once. 

“That time you came to see us with Laura, wheD 
Janice was a little girl 


1 68 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


‘Why, Daddy!'’ interrupted Janice, her eyes 
round with wonder, “I don't remember Poketown 
at all." 

“You were too little to recall that visit. I have 
only been back there once since you and your deat 
mother and I visited Jase and Almira." Then he 
went on, reading aloud : 

“ ‘you remember the house needed painting and 
the front gate hung by one hinge. Well, it still 
needs painting and that one hinge has give up the 
ghost now. So you see, there hasn't been many 
changes. You're the only Day, I guess, that ever 
had any “get up and get” to them. 

“ ‘But my heart has been full of thoughts of you 
since we heard of poor Laura's death. We often 
speak of you and wonder how you and that little girl 
get on all stark alone. I know how I should feel if 
Jase and Marty was left as you and Janice be.’ ” 

“Oh,” gasped Janice, “she'd be dead!" 

“Well,” mused her father, “Almira, living in such 
a dead place as Poketown, evidently considers that 
she knows about how she would feel in her grave.” 

“Is it such an awful place. Daddy?” Janice asked 
seriously. 

“What do you mean ?” he inquired, in surprise. 

“Oh, Poketown, I mean, of course.” 

“It is a lovely place. But it must be confessed 


A Letter From Poketown 


169 


that it is a good deal behind the times. It is not as 
bad as Aunt 'Mira makes it out to be, I guess. Only, 
the old Day house has pretty well gone to rack and 
ruin.” 

‘Well. Let’s hear the rest,” urged Janice. 

“ *j2ise says to be mighty careful if you should 
have to go down to that Mexico place. He reads in 
his Ledger that sometimes there is shooting down 
there and that the Mexicaners don’t care who they 
shoot’ ” 

“Oh, Daddy !” cried Janice, “you don’t mean you 
are going to Mexico ?” 

“I wrote them when I thought it might be neces- 
sary,” he confessed. 

“And you would send me East if you went? Oh, 
Daddy, please!” 

“Well, my dear, that seemed the wisest thing to 
do.” 

“Oh, Daddy!” 

“Don’t worry now. We have engaged a new 
superintendent at the mines, and I guess things will 
go on all right. Listen to what your Aunt ’Mira 
says: 

“ ‘Of course, if you have to go down there on 
business, you send Janice right to us. I’m speak- 
ing for Jase as well as myself. We ain’t rich, of 


170 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker, 


course ; but there’s enough to fill another mouth yet 
awhile, so don’t be bashful. 

** ‘Hoping this finds you and Janice in health, it 
leaving us all the same, I will close, 

“ Your sister-in-law and Janice’s aunt, 

“ ‘Almira Day.’ ” 

*‘I hope you won’t have to go, and that I won’t 
have to go. Daddy !” exclaimed the girl anxiously. 

“She’s a good soul — ^Almira. She’d do her best 
by you.” 

“I don’t want anybody to do their best by me — 
only you. Daddy.” 

“But you see, my dear, I couldn’t leave you alone 
at home here. Certainly not with a woman like 
Mrs. Watkins.” 

“We-ell!” 

“Why, she would be imposing upon you all the 
time. No, indeed. I feel that she is not the woman 
for our house, after all.” 

“Oh, dear. Daddy ! isn’t it funny how many peo- 
ple there are in the world who don’t just fit?” 

“Right you are, my dear,” he agreed, laughing 
again. “ ‘Round pegs in square holes.’ The woods 
are full of them.” 

“That Mrs. Watkins never should have gone out 
to work.” 

guess not.” 

^‘And people like Mrs. Carringford have got tneir 


A Letter From Poketown lyi 

own families and their own troubles. So we can’t 
get them.” 

‘‘What put Amy’s mother in your mind?” 

“I wish you could see their house, Daddy.” 

“I have,” he said, rather grimly. “And it is 3 
sight!” 

“Not inside! Oh, not at all, Daddy!” she cried. 
“It is as neat as wax. Mrs. Carringford is just a 
love of a housekeeper. I wish you could see how 
neat everything is kept,” and she sighed. 

The automobile soon brought them to the house 
at eight hundred and forty-five Knight street. Mr. 
Day had become serious again as they came in sight 
of the cottage in which so much of a disturbing 
nature had happened of late. 

For a few days, it was true, Broxton Day had 
hoped the new housekeeper would prove an efficient 
and trustworthy employee, but what he had seen on 
coming unexpectedly home this Saturday noon, had 
caused doubt to rise in his mind. 

Experience had taught him that domestic servants 
are the most independent of laborers. To dare call 
one to account — especially one like Mrs. Watkins — 
was to court disaster. 

He had felt this to be the case at the time, yet he 
was unwilling to see Janice made a drudge of by the 
too ladylike Mrs. Watkins. If the kitchen floor had 
to be scrubbed, and the houseworker would not 
scrub it, he would do it himself ! 


ii22 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

In this mood he entered his home. All was quiet. 
There was nobody in the living room or dining 
room. On the table in the latter room were the dirty 
dishes and the remains of Mrs. Watkins’ lunch. 

**Oh . ! where is she?” gasped Janice, following her 
father through the rooms. 

Mr. Day led the way to the kitchen. The pail 
stood where Janice had left it, the scrubbing brush 
beside it. The fire in the range had gone out. 

With a smothered cry Janice darted upstairs. In 
a moment her voice reached his expectant ear: 

*‘Oh, Daddy, she’s gone !” she cried. 


CHAPTER XVII 


MISS PECKHAM WASHES HER HANDS 

^Tt seemed that Mrs. Sophronia Watkins had 
never sent for her trunk ; so all she had to do was 
to pack her bag and walk out of the house. And 
she had done that very thing. 

‘What can't be cured, must be endured,’ ” quoted 
Daddy. “Here is a nice little island of clean floor 
where you scrubbed, Janice. I will build the fire, 
heat water, and finish the job.” 

“Oh, no. Daddy ! Let me. Your poor knees — ** 

“My knees are not poor, Fd have you know,” he 
retorted, laughing. “You dust around and make 
the house presentable for Sunday. ‘Thus endeth the 
lesson.’ No more ‘lady’ housekeepers, Janice, for 
us.” 

“No-o. I s’pose not. But who shall we get?” 

“That is on the knees of the gods, my child,” 
answered Daddy, who often used quotations that 
Janice did not altogether understand, but which she 
thought were very fine, just the same! 

“I guess you mean that nobody knows unless he’s 
omniscient,” she said now. “That’s a big word. 


173 


174 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

Daddy, but we had it in our lesson the other day. 
And I guess only somebody who knows everything 
could guess who will work for us next. Oh, dear V* 

''These three weeks have been an expensive ex- 
perience,” said her father, ruefully enough. "Be- 
sides the addition to our household bills, Mrs. Wat- 
kins asked me the other evening for her month's 
wages. 'Salary,' she called it. She was about ten 
days ahead of time; but I gave it to her. • 

"So we can figure that our month's expenses 
have been about doubled. We could not stand that 
for long, Janice. Perhaps it is a blessing that Mrs. 
Watkins has taken herself off.” 

"Just the same, Daddy, I'm sorry you came home 
and caught me scrubbing the floor,'' Janice sighed. 
"We were getting along without your being 
bothered — after a fashion.” 

"At your cost,” he said grimly. "No ; we'll hobble 
along somehow.” 

'But it's such a hobble. Daddy ! It seems to me 
that I'm not much of a 'do something' girl or I'd 
manage better than I do.” And Janice sighed. 

"You do wonders, daughter, for a girl of your 
age. Maybe it is daddy who fails.” 

"Oh, Daddy, never!” 

Janice hurried to do the things Mrs. Watkins had 
left undone. And so she forgot some little pur- 
chases that had to be made, until it was almost dark. 

Remembering these, she put on her hat and 


Miss Peckham Washes Her Hands 175 

jacket in haste, and telling her father where she was 
going, ran out to the street. There were the ‘Weeks 
tribe,'’ Junior in the lead, with most of the other 
children of the neighborhood, running through Love 
street in a noisy and excited throng. 

‘What can be the matter now? A fire?" won- 
dered Janice. 

Her errand took her in an opposite direction. But 
she saw people standing at their gates and chatting 
to each other as though there was some neighbor- 
hood interest that she did not know about. 

‘What is the matter with everybody?" Janice 
asked one girl whom she met. 

‘Why, didn't you see it?” was the surprised an 
swer. 

“Maybe I did, only I didn't know what it was/* 
laughed Janice. 

“A dancing bear. A great, big, brown fellow. 
You never saw the like,” said her acquaintance. 

“Well,” thought Janice, “we cannot hire a danc- 
ing bear to do our housework, that is sure. So I 
don't believe he interests me.”’ 

She did the errand and hastened home, for 
daddy and she had not yet had supper. She ran 
in at the side door, and as she did so she heard voices 
in the kitchen. She halted, listening; for one of the 
voices she recognized as Miss Peckham’s and it was 
high-pitched and angry. 

“I wash my hands of you both — I can tell you 


176 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

that!” exclaimed the spinster from next door. '‘I 
don’t know why I should have put myself out to 
help you, Broxton Day, in any case.” 

*'1 do not see why you should,” Daddy replied 
mildly. ‘Yet I believe you meant well, and I thank 
you.” 

“ ‘Meant well’ ?” sniffed the visitor. “I don’t 
know what that’s got to do with it. I gave you 
both — both Sophrony and you — the chance of your 
lives. And neither of you appreciate it. I wash 
my hands of you !” 

Janice pushed open the door quietly and stepped 
in, closing it after her. Miss Peckham, with flash- 
ing black eyes and more color in her face than usual, 
had drawn herself up commandingly in the middle 
of the kitchen floor and was staring at Mr. Day 
angrily. 

“There’s that gal !” exclaimed the spinster. “She’s 
the one to blame.” 

“I assure you to the contrary, Janice was doing 
her best to hide Mrs. Watkins’ shortcomings from 
me,” said Mr. Day, smiling warmly at his daughter. 

“It don’t matter. ’Twas over her you and So- 
phrony quarreled. You admit it.” 

“I certainly do not admit that I quarreled with 
Mrs. Watkins,” he said firmly. “She evidently took 
offense at what I said to her, and she left. Now she 
cannot come back. Under no circumstances would 
I consider it.” 


Miss Peckham Washes Her Hands 177 

‘‘Well, I wash my hands of you both!” exclaimed 
Miss Peckham again, and she turned sharply toward 
the back door — ^the door opposite the one by which 
Janice had just entered. 

The matter of washing her hands seemed impor- 
tant, if only a figure of speech. She repeated it 
angrily as she jerked open the kitchen door. And 
then she uttered a strange, squeaking cry that 
startled Janice and her father before they caught 
sight of what had caused the woman’s fright. 

Miss Peckham seemed transfixed with terror. 
She threw up her hands stiffly and toppled over 
backward. She fell just as though she had not a 
joint in her body, and she fell so hard that her feet 
sprang up into the air when her shoulders and the 
back of her head struck the floor. 

Standing upright, framed by the doorframe, was 
a huge, shaggy, ragged-looking bear, and he was 
snuffling and whining as bears do when they want 
something. Really the bear was begging, but none 
of those in the kitchen for a moment realized that 
fact. 

Mr. Day grabbed the poker. Janice squealed and 
hid behind him. But her single affrighted cry was 
all the sound Miss Peckham made. She really had 
collapsed in what Janice thought was a faint. 

Before Mr. Day could attack the creature, a whin- 
ing voice from the darkness behind the bear said: 
^‘Bread-butter, please, Signore — Signora. Pietro 


Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

no bite. He gooda bear. Give supper, please. 
Pietro lika bread-butter.” 

The bear came down upon his forepaws, still 
whining. They could see, then, the chain by which 
a very dark man, with little gold rings in his ears, 
held the animal in leash. The trainer smiled very 
broadly while Pietro snuffed curiously at the soles 
of Miss Peckham’s shoes. 

And Miss Peckham kicked the harmless Pietro 
on the nose. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


ALL IN THE DAY^S WORK 

The huge brown bear whined again and seemed 
grieved that his innocent attentions should be so un- 
gratefully received. The hysterical Miss Peckham 
kicked again and Pietro backed away and left space 
for his suavely smiling master in the doorway of the 
Day's kitchen. 

‘T — I wash my hands of you !” moaned the pros- 
trate spinster. 

‘What — How did you come to bring that bear 
into my yard ?" demanded Mr. Day, finally recover- 
ing his voice. 

“Boy tella me you give Pietro supper," said the 
man with the very engaging smile. “Bread-butter. 
Pietro lika heem." 

“That Arlo Weeks Junior!" cried Janice sudden- 
ly. “Oh, Daddy, there he is outside." 

There was a loud explosion of laughter back of 
the bear and his trainer, on the dark porch, and 
then the clatter of running feet. Junior's proclivity 
for practical jokes was too well known for the Days 
to doubt his connivance in this most surprising hap- 
pening. 


179 


ii8o Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

“No maka troub’, Signore,'^ whined the Italian 
master of the bear in about the same tone Bruin 
himself had begged. 

Mr. Day was helping the overwrought Miss Peck- 
ham to her. feet. 

“Of all things !” he muttered. “Take her out the 
other way, Janice — do.’’ 

“I wash my hands of you !” repeated the spinster, 
scarcely aware yet of what had happened. Then 
she suddenly descried the bear again. She shrieked 
in a most ear-piercing tone: 

“There it is ! I know Janice Day did that ! Don’t 
talk to me ! She’s the plague of the neighborhood. 
No wonder Sophrony couldn’t stand it here. Bring- 
ing bears into the house !” 

“Oh ! Oh, Miss Peckham ! I never !” cried Janice. 

“Don’t deny it. You — ^you horrid child!” de- 
clared the spinster; and repeating again that she 
“washed her hands” of them all, she ran out of the 
house by the other door and quickly disappeared in 
the direction of her own cottage. 

“Well, I never!” exclaimed Mr. Day, falling into 
a chair. Then he burst into uproarious laughter. 

The Italian, who had been about to withdraw, 
and was tugging on the bear’s chain, began to smile 
again. He foresaw leniency when the master of the 
house could laugh like this. 

Janice gave way to merriment, too. It was funny. 


All in the Day’s Work i8i 

Much as she was sorry for Miss Peckham's fright, 
the situation altogether was one to amuse her. 

Pietro waddled into the kitchen and sat up like a 
dog to beg. A bear is a foolish looking beast at best, 
imless it becomes ill-tempered; and this big brown 
thing, so his smiling master said, ‘'had the heart of 
a child.’’ 

“And the stomach of an ostrich!” declared Janice, 
after almost every cold scrap in the house had fol- 
lowed several slices of “bread-butter” down Pietro’s 
cavernous maw. 

The old fellow was as good-natured as he could 
foe. After the feast he went through his little reper- 
toire of tricks with little urging. 

He “played soldier” and went through his own 
particular manual of arms with his master’s stick 
as a gun. He “played dead,” but with his little pig- 
like eyes twinkling all the time. 

Finally he danced with his master, and with such 
abandon, if not grace, that the dishes rattled on the 
shelves in the kitchen cupboard. 

“There, that will do. He’s paid for his supper. 
Next thing he’ll have the house down about our 
ears,” declared Mr. Broxton Day. 

“Grazias, Signore; grazias, Sl^ora,’ said the 
bear trainer, over and over again, and bowing deep- 
ly as he jerked Pietro by the chain toward the door. 

His eyes, his teeth, and the little gold rings in his 


j 82 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

ears, all twinkled together. Janice thought he was 
a very polite man. 

‘‘And I hope he is always kind to Pietro,’’ she 
said, when the foreigner and his strange pet were 
gone. “But, Daddy ! don’t we have the greatest hap- 
penings in our house ?” 

“Right you are, my dear. An aristocratic lady 
has left us flat; the neighborhood censor has washed 
her hands of us; and we have entertained a highly 
educated bear, all in a single day. As you might 
say, all these astonishing happenings are ‘all in the 
Days’ work.’ The Days certainly do entertain the 
most astonishing adventures.” 

“Oh, my! don’t we?” giggled his daughter. 

“And now, if Pietro the bear has left us anything 
in the house to eat, let us have supper, Janice. I 
expect that hereafter Miss Peckham’s opinion of 
us will be too acrimonious for speech.” 

“Oh, she never did like me much,” sighed Janice. 
“And now Arlo Junior has made it worse again. 
Just think! The bear on top of the cats — 

“Scarcely that, my dear,” laughed her father. 
“But if she really believes you introduced that bear 
for the purpose of scaring her, her poor Sam’s get- 
ting hurt over here will be a small incident compared 
with this ursine hold-up. The neighbors are going 
to hear about this, I feel sure.” 

Nor was he mistaken on that point. Before 
forty-eight hours had elapsed it was noised around 


All in the Day/| SS^orlc 


the neighborhood that ‘‘that very ladylike person, 
Mrs. Watkins'* had been obliged to leave the Days 
and had returned to Marietteville, because of the 
treatment accorded her in “that house, which she 
had entered only as a favor.** 

It was told that Janice had invited a tramp with 
a dancing bear into the house and that “no lady 
who deemed herself such** could endure rudeness of 
that character. Somehow, the neighborhood cen- 
sor did not figure in the story of the dancing bear; 
perhaps she feared to be ridiculed. 

But Janice told Mrs. Carringford all about it. 
That good woman had serious troubles of her own ; 
but she was not so selfish that she could not sympa- 
thize with Janice. 

“I do wish I could do something to help you and 
your father, my dear,** said the woman. “When 
people have as nice a house as you have — ^Amy has 
told me all about it — it does seem too bad that it 
can't be kept as a home should be kept.** 

“Like yours, Mrs. Carringford,** said Janice. 

“My dear,** sighed Mrs. Carringford, “I don’t 
know how long we’ll have our home, poor as it is. 
We owe a lot of money on it. I am afraid I did 
wrong in trying to buy this place,** and she shook 
her head sadly. 

Janice did not feel like asking the friendly woman 
pointblank what she meant; but Amy afterward 
explained. 


184 Janice Day, the Young HomemaKer 


*You see, Janice, Mr. Abel Strout, of Napsburg, 
owned this house. It was he who advised mother 
strongly to buy a home with father’s insurance 
money. We didn’t know how much it cost to keep 
up a house after you get possession of it. 

“Mr. Strout took part of our money in payment 
and mother gave a mortgage to him for the balance 
of the price. And that mortgage is troubling mother 
greatly.” 

“I guess mortgages are bad things,” Janice ob- 
served, with a wise nod of her head. 

“They are when poor folks have ’em, anyway. 
You see, mother held back some money to live on. 
But taxes and repairs and assessments have to come 
out of that, as well as the interest on the mortgage 
that comes due half-yearly. And that isn’t all.” 

'“No?” asked Janice, interested. 

*"Now it seems that Mr. Strout only wrote that 
mortgage for a year and he can do what he calls 
‘call it in’ a month from now. Of course, mother 
can’t pay the mortgage ; it is hard enough to pay the 
interest on it. And so Mr. Strout says he will just 
take the house back and we — ^we’ll lose our money, 
and all,” finished Amy with almost a sob. 

“Why, I think that is too mean for an3d;hingr^ 
cried her friend. “Can’t he be stopped?” 

“I don’t know how. And I guess mother doesn’t. 
He says he would accept a payment on the principal 
— ^that’s the mortgage, you know. But mother 


All in the Day’s Work 185 

doesn’t dare give up any more of our money. There 
is nobody earning any but Gummy. And how far 
do you suppose his three dollars a week goes in buy- 
ing food for all us children, for instance?” 

Janice had no answer for this; but she determined 
to tell daddy the particulars of Mrs. Carrlngford’s 
trouble. Besides, she had In her mind, and had had 
for a long time, a desire to bring her father and 
Amy’s mother together. She wanted them to know 
each other, and for a very definite reason. 


CHAPTER XIX 


A FLARE-UP 

At school the first of that week there was little 
talked about, of course, save the glories of Stella’s 
party. No girl in the grammar grade had ever 
celebrated her birthday with such magnificence. The 
commendation she heard on all sides made Stella 
very proud. 

Because so many of the girls tried to show her 
their appreciation of the nice time they had had at 
the Latham farm, Stella began to feel quite puffed 
up. She considered herself to be the most important 
person in her grade, at least, if not in the whole 
school. 

It was a privilege to be taken up by the Latham 
car after school and set down at one’s door; and 
Stella distributed such favors with no lack of 
shrewdness. She meant such rides to bring her 
popularity. Janice had often been the recipient of 
these kindnesses, and as she had told her father, it 
did delight her to ride in an automobile. 

But since she had become so friendly with Amy 
Carringford, Janice had frequently walked home 


i86 


A Flare-Up 187 

with her, or Amy had accompanied her to the Day 
house after school. 

Stella was shallow enough when it came to dis- 
playing her own friendship for another girl; but 
suddenly it struck the farmer's daughter that a girl 
who had once been much in her company was show- 
ing a preference for somebody else. 

‘‘That Janice Day is sly,” she muttered to herself, 
passing Janice and Amy as they wended their chat- 
tering way homeward. “She thinks I don't notice 
what she's doing. I'll give it to her to-morrow, see 
if I don't!” 

This threat T e proceeded to put into practice. 
And it came most unexpectedly both to Janice and 
Amy. 

Janice, of course, was perfectly innocent and 
quite unsuspicious of any attack, and Amy did not 
dream that Stella did not like her. Had not the 
farmer's daughter invited Amy to her party? In 
fact Amy was liked by almost everybody, teachers 
and pupils included. 

In arithmetic Stella always was dull, and on this 
particular morning she was more than ordinarily 
careless in recitation. Miss Marble gave her a sharp 
word and propounded the same question to Amy 
Carringford. The latter returned the correct an- 
swer, and then gave the red-faced Stella a depreca- 
tory smile. 

“Don’t you grin at me, you pauper !” hissed Stella, 


1 88 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

and so loudly that several of the girls near by heard 
her words. 

Even Miss Marble took notice of Stella’s speech, 
although she could not overhear what she said. 

‘‘No communicating during recitations, Stella,” 
she said sharply. 

Amy had paled to her very lips and the tears 
sprang to her eyes. Janice was too far away to un- 
derstand; but she was interested — she could not 
fail to be. 

None who heard the unkind remark of Stella 
Latham but felt sorry that one of their mates should 
be so rude and ungracious. 

“Of course, we all know Amy Carringford is 
poor — just as poor as poverty,” one of them said at 
recess. “But that is no reason for telling her so !” 

This girl was quite energetic in saying this — and 
more — ^to the offending Stella. 

“Just because you ride in an automobile, and 
your father owns a farm, you need not think that 
you are better than anybody else in our class — for 
you’re not, Stella Latham! Amy Carringford is 
every whit as good as you are.” 

“Is that so?” snapped Stella. “She’s a poverty- 
stricken thing. She hasn’t got a decent thing to 
wear — ” 

“What nonsense, Stella,” drawled another and 
older girl, shrugging her shoulders. “I noticed par- 


A Flare-Up 189 

ticularly the other night. Amy had as pretty a frock 
on as anybody at your party.” 

‘‘Yes! And where did she get it?” flared out 
Stella. 

“Her mother made it, I fancy,” said the same 
girl, laughing. 

“That dress was given her by Janice Day. Amy 
couldn’t have come to my party otherwise — so now ! 
You just ask Janice if what I say isn’t so,” cried 
Stella, stamping her foot. 

“I don’t believe it,” said the first speaker shortly. 

“So I’m a story-teller, am I?” almost shrieked 
Stella. “You just ask Janice.” 

Just then Janice strolled into the room where 
the girls were gathered at this lunch hour. Amy, of 
course, had run home for her lunch — and run home 
in tears, Janice knew. The latter knew that Stella 
was the cause of Amy’s trouble, but up to this point 
she had not discovered the exact reason for the 
flare-up. 

“You think I don’t tell the truth,” pursued Stella, 
in a loud and angry voice. “I suppose you’ll believe 
what Janice Day says. You just ask her who gave 
that nasty Amy Carringford the dress she wore to 
my party.” 

Janice stopped stock still for a moment. Her 
schoolmate’s statement was like a blow in the face. 
Mean of disposition as she knew Stella Latham to 


190 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

be, she had not thought the girl would tell the secret 
of Amy's pretty dress. 

After the ban of silence Janice had put upon the 
farmer's daughter, and the latter's promise to obey 
that mandate and tell nobody about the pink and 
white frock, this deliberate breaking of Stella's 
word astounded Janice Day. Her face flushed, 
then paled, and she looked as though she were the 
person guilty of the outrage, rather than Stella. 

'What nonsense!" exclaimed the older girl, but 
looking at Janice curiously. 'Why put it on Janice, 
Stella? You are saying something you do not know 
anything about" 

"Oh ! I don't ?'’ exclaimed the farmer’s daughter. 
"You just ask Janice, I tell you." 

"Do your own asking," said another. "Janice 
doesn't look very pleasant,” and she laughed. 

'"You tell ’em?" commanded Stella, starting to- 
ward Janice threateningly. "Didn’t you give Amy 
that dress so she could come to my party? Didn't 
you?" 

Janice had begun to recover her confidence — and 
her good sense, too. She could not deny the accu- 
sation ; but she determined to put Stella before her 
fellow schoolmates in just the right light. 

"I do not know that it is a crime for one girl to 
help another," Janice said quietly, and still very 
pale. "If I did what Stella claims I did, it was 


A Flare-Up xgi 

nothing shameful I am sure — either for Amy or for 
me” 

"'Of course it wasn’t!” murmured one of the 
other girls. 

"Bully for you, Janice!” said another, in com- 
mendation. 

"It really was only our business — Amy's and 
mine. But Stella knew about it. In fact, Stella 
came to me about Amy in the first place. She want- 
ed to invite Amy and she feared — so she said — that 
Amy would not have a party dress. I undertook to 
find her one, and hard enough time I had getting 
Amy and her mother to agree to use the dress. 

"But that,” said Janice scornfully, "is a purely 
personal matter between them and me. I want to 
ask you girls, though, what you think of a person 
who, after having given her word to keep the mat- 
ter a secret, deliberately taunts Amy with the fact 
that she took the dress from me? That is what I 
want to know.” 

The other girls were silent for the moment. 
Janice Day’s scornful question was too pointed to be 
ignored. Stella broke out again in anger, her voice 
high and shrill: 

"I don’t care! So there! She is a dowdy little 
thing, and she had no business to come to my party, 
anyway.” 

"Stella,” said the older girl grimly, "you’re mak- 


192 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


ing yourself awfully ridiculous. And worse. You 
can’t keep a secret. And you don’t keep your word. 

I guess there will be more than Amy Carringford 
who will be sorry that they ever went to your old 
party. Now, stop yelling. Here comes Miss 
Marble.” 

The flare-up was only the beginning of a very un- 
happy time at school for Amy Carringford. Nor 
could Janice escape being unhappy, too, with her 
new friend. 

That Stella was unable to raise any cabal against 
Janice and Amy, but quite the contrary, made the 
situation only a degree more bearable for the two 
friends. Although the other girls did not join 
Stella Latham in scorning the poor girl who lived 
in Mullen Lane, the latter felt deeply the fact that 
she was considered different from her schoolmates. 

‘Dh, I wish mother would let me go to work,” 
Amy sighed, on more than one occasion, and to 
Janice’s sympathetic ear. ‘T declare! I’d go out as 
a servant in somebody’s home, if mother would let 
me. We need the money so.” 

‘'Goodness ! Don’t say such things,” pleaded 
Janice. “We need a servant right now, bad enough. 
But you would not want to come and scrub and 
sweep and wash and iron even for daddy and me — 
you know, you wouldn’t.” 

“I don’t care. Mother says she must go to work 
somewhere. I’ll then have to come to school on part 


A Flare-Up 193 

time only. Somebody must look after the twins and 
Edna May.” 

‘‘Oh, Amy! what will your mother do?” 

“She doesn’t know. She has tried to get work to 
do at home. But all the sewing machine work she 
can obtain is so heavy. And so poorly paid I What 
do you suppose she gets for stitching those great, 
heavy motorman’s coats — ^putting them all together 
except making buttonholes and sewing on buttons, 
which is done in the factory?” 

“I have no idea,” said Janice. 

“Thir-ty-sev-en-cents !” exclaimed Amy, tragic- 
ally. “Think of it ! And they almost kill her, they 
are so heavy to handle.” 

“Oh, my dear ! I wouldn’t let her do them.” 

“I guess we wouldn’t — Gummy and I — if we 
could help it,” sobbed Amy. “But something must 
be done by the Carringford family to help out. 
When Mr. Strout comes over from Napsburg next 
week he will make us pay off something on that 
mortgage, or turn us out of the house — such as it 
is.” 

“Dear Amy, I wish I could do something for 
you,” sighed Janice. 

She said nothing more than that at the time. But 
that very evening she did not at once open her 
schoolbooks when she and her father sat down final- 
ly in the living room, the supper dishes washed and 
put away and the kitchen swept. 


194 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

They had remained without any help since the de- 
parture of Mrs. Sophronia Watkins. Mr. Day 
had gone every day to the intelligence offices and 
brought back the most discouraging reports. 

'"But, Daddy, isn^t there any person in the whole 
of Greensboro or in the county any more who has 
to work for her living?” asked Janice. 

*^That man, Murphy, at whose office I engaged 
Delia, says that there are no good houseworkers 
any more. He says the girls who come to him for 
situations are all ‘specialists,* ** said daddy, gloom- 
ily enough. 

“Special dunces, I guess,” Janice rejoined rather 
tartly, “if Delia was a sample.” 

“But she wasn’t,” said daddy, with a smile. “At 
any rate, he tells me he has good cooks, and good 
chambermaids, and good laundresses ; but he has no 
combinations of those trades.” 

“Oh!” 

“Girls do not like to go out to service in families 
where ‘general housework’ is expected. It seems,” 
he added grimly, “that to get good help we should 
engage two or three girls, and then have a lady, like 
Mrs. Watkins, to superintend.” 

“I guess we’ll have to give up and go to boarding, 
then,” sighed Janice. “Only I am sure I should just 
detest a boarding house, Daddy.” 

am afraid we should both dislike such a life as 


A Flare-Up 195 

that. Your dear mother gave us too good and com- 
fortable a home.” 

“But we ought to be used to the discomforts of 
housekeeping by this time,” said Janice. “But, oh. 
Daddy ! there are other folks who have worse times 
than we do.” 

“So I believe,” he agreed, nodding, as he unfold- 
ed his paper. 

“Wait, Daddy !” she begged. “I want to tell you.” 

“About other people's troubles.^” he asked, with 
a quizzical smile. 

“Yes; I do. It's about the Carringfords.” 

“Ah-ha! You were saying once that they were 
in trouble over their home, were you not ? I looked 
that place up. A fellow named Strout — ” 

“And he's so mean!'* declared Janice with vigor. 

“Yes. That seems to be his middle name,” agreed 
her father quietly. “I am afraid Mrs. Carringford 
got into the hands of a sharper when she undertook 
to buy that cottage in Mullen Lane of Abel Strout.” 

“Oh, dear. Daddy ! isn't there any way of helping 
them out of their trouble?” Janice asked disappoint- 
edly. 

“I cannot tell that until I know all the particu- 
lars.” 

“Oh ! Let me tell you — ” 

“Do you know them, my dear?” he asked, inter- 
rupting her. 


.196 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

‘Well, I know some of them,” she confessed, with 
less vehemence. 

“I think you had better ask Mrs. Carringford to 
come to see me. If she will tell me about it, I may 
be able to advise her, at least. I know Strout is a 
sharper.” 

“Oh, my dear! that is so good of you,” Janice 
cried. “Ill tell her.” 

“She can bring her papers here, instead of to the 
bank,” added Mr. Day on second thought. “Per- 
haps she will like that better. Any evening that she 
chooses, my dear.” 

Janice could scarcely wait until the next day to 
tell her friend, Amy, what her father had said. 


CHAPTER XX 


STELLA KEEPS ONE SECRET 

xT was on this evening, too, that Daddy told 
Janice he had made a point of seeing and talking 
with Johnson, Mr. Latham’s tenant. The man had 
a small account in the Farmers and Merchants 
Bank, for, like most of his nation, ^'Yon Yonson,’' 
as his wife had called him, was a frugal man. 

'^He came into the bank and I inquired about the 
girl who visited his wife and who broke Mrs. Lath- 
am’s cutglass dish,” said Mr. Day. ‘Johnson says 
he knows little about the girl — ^not even where she 
lives, or really who she is. Only he told me her 
last name was not Cedarstrom.” 

‘‘So that, I fear,” added Mr. Day, shaking his 
head, “is another lost trail. It does seem that the 
mystery of the disappearance of our treasure-box, 
Janice, is likely to remain a mystery. 

“At least, that girl at the Latham’s was another 
girl than our Olga. Johnson says she was only vis- 
iting his wife for a day or two. She was a friend 
of his wife’s. I think they believe Latham wants to 
find the girl to make her pay for that broken dish, 


197 


198 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

so they are less willing to talk about her than might 
otherwise be the case/* 

‘‘Just the same/* sighed Janice, “I do wish Gum- 
my had known just how our Olga looked/* 

“How is that?** 

“Then he would have known for sure whether it 
was Olga Cedar Strom or not. Just his seeing that 
her hair was strained back from her face doesn*t 
prove anything.** 

“I should say it did not,** laughed her father. 
“That manner of wearing the hair seems to be a 
common failing with these Swedish women. Be- 
sides, don’t I tell you that Johnson says that girl 
is not named ‘Cedarstrom* ?** 

*‘We-ell, it is awfully funny. Daddy. It doesn’t 
seem as though a girl could disappear so completely 
— ^wiped right off the map — ** 

“Vigorously expressed, I admit/* her father in- 
terrupted. “But we must not begin to doubt every- 
body’s word about it. I guess Johnson is honest.” 

“And those other people who knew her in Pickle- 
town ?** 

“They simply don’t know what has become of her. 
Or of Willie Sangreen, either,” Daddy admitted. 
“That does seem strange. Of course the two have 
gone off somewhere to be married and have not told 
their friends.” 

“It proves that Olga did take dear mother’s mini- 


Stella Keeps One Secret 


199 


ature — and — and those letters/’ said Janice excited- 
ly. “Or she would not hide herself/’ 

“Yes. I thought we had already agreed on that/* 
her father said. 

It was evident that he did not wish uselessly to 
discuss the matter of the lost keepsakes. Janice, 
young as she was, realized that her father was 
growing more grave and more serious every day. 
She did not believe that this change was altogether 
due to business anxieties, or even to their household 
vexations. 

At night, after she was supposed to be in bed 
and sound asleep, the girl heard him walking back 
and forth the length of the living room; or, some- 
times, now that the weather was so mild, he tramped 
up and down the front porch until very, very late. 

There was surely some trouble on his mind that 
he did not care to confide to his little daughter. 
Broxton Day sighed more often than had been his 
wont even during those hard, hard days immediate- 
ly following the death of Janice’s mother. His 
hearty laugh was not so spontaneous nor heard as 
often as before. 

Janice could not speak about this change in her 
father. She believed she knew why he was so grave 
and why some of his nights were sleepless. 

Broxton Day had loved his wife with a passionate 
devotion. He must miss her presence more and 
more as the days went on. In spite of all tlie com- 


200 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

panionship Janice could give him, the man’s exis- 
tence was a lonely one. 

'"And, too, her heart told her that she had been 
the unwitting cause of this new burden which had 
come upon daddy’s mind. Those letters which 
Janice had never seen — the presence of which she 
had not even suspected in the secret compartment of 
the lost treasure-box — ^had been Broxton Day’s most 
precious possession. Janice had lost them! Her 
carelessness had given the angry Olga the oppor- 
tunity to take the box away with her. 

The letters had been written at a time when 
Janice’s father and mother were very close together 
in spirit, if not in actual contact. Even Janice could 
understand that Laura Day must have revealed her 
very soul to her husband in those epistles. 

Oh, if she could only bring them back ! 

So sorrow began to be entertained in the Day 
house on Knight Street, as a continual guest. It did 
seem, too, that Janice could do very little to relieve 
her father of any of the embarrassments of their 
situation. She worked as hard as she could before 
she went to school and after she came home, but she 
could not begin to do all that was needed to be done. 
And she was so tired sometimes after supper that 
she fell asleep over her home work. 

Their meals became, too, a mere round of bacon- 
and-egg breakfasts and delicatessen suppers. Shop- 
cooked meats and potato salads were on the bill of 


Stella Keeps One Secret 


201 


fare too often to tempt the appetite of either Mr. 
Day or his daughter, and the latter began to depend 
a good deal upon “baker's stuff" for her lunch. 

With the unfortunate experiences they had had 
with help, however, Janice did not wonder that 
daddy found nobody to suit him at the agencies. 
Olga, Delia, Mrs. Watkins — and all those who had 
come and gone before — were enough to fill the mind 
of any person with despair. 

Janice did not forget to tell Mrs. Carringford 
what Mr. Day had said regarding her trouble, and 
that on the very next day. 

“He’ll be sure to see some way out for you, Mrs. 
Carringford," the girl assured her friend’s mother, 
with much confidence. “Daddy is always doing 
things for folks. He doesn’t just advise ; he is sure 
to do something/^ 

“Yes, I should not be surprised if Mr. Broxton 
Day was a do-something man," said Mrs. Carring- 
ford, smiling. “He must be when he has such a do- 
something daughter." 

“And you really will come up to see him this eve- 
ning?" urged Janice, blushing rosily at what she con- 
sidered a compliment. 

— I — well, my dear, I could not accept any 
financial favor from your father. I would not have 
a right to do so. The Carringfords must be inde- 
pendent.” 

“But, Mrs. Carringford, you mustn’t feel that 


202 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

way! I have no idea Daddy could give you much 
money, even if you would let him. But, you see, he 
knows so much more about such things as mort- 
gages, and loans, and real estate, that he can give 
you good advice. And he says that Mr. Abel 
Strout’s middle name is 'Mean' !" 

Mrs. Carringford laughingly agreed to that, and 
in the evening she came to the house with Gummy, 
Amy being left at home to take care of the little 
ones. 

Mr. Day had already met and quite approved of 
Mrs. Carringford’s two older children, Gummy and 
Amy, for he had seen them both at the house. But 
he had had no idea, in spite of Janice's enthusiastic 
praise, that Mrs. Carringford was quite the woman 
she was. 

He saw now a very gentle, pretty woman whose 
soft, wavy hair was becoming prematurely gray, 
with an intelligent countenance and eyes that fixed 
one's attention almost immediately. Here, Mr. Day 
saw, was a capable, energetic spirit — a woman who 
would carry through whatever she undertook could 
it be carried through at all, yet who was not objec- 
tionably self-assertive — like Miss Peckham, for 
instance. 

If Mrs. Carringford had made a mistake in her 
purchase of the property in Mullen Lane, it was 
because she had been badly advised, if not actually 
cheated, by the sly old fellow who had for years 


Stella Keeps One Secret 203 

owned the property which he had taken for a bad 
debt. 

Abel Strout had doubtless been glad to get rid of 
the Mullen Lane place, and for the first payment 
made upon it by Mrs. Carringford. But he had 
been foxy enough to make a hard and fast bargain 
with the widow. He had her tied up in a contract 
that, if she failed to meet her obligations in a small 
way, even, would enable him to walk in and take the 
place away from her. 

And he had done more than that. For some rea- 
son best known to himself he had first transferred 
the property to one John Jamison — a farm hand 
of that section — and had then had this Jamison 
transfer the property to Mrs. Carringford, he pay- 
ing the difference represented by the mortgage he 
held. 

‘'He said Jamison had grown tired of his bargain 
a week after he bought it,’" Mrs. Carringford ex- 
plained. “He wanted Mr. Strout to take it back. 
Strout said by making the transfer he would be aid- 
ing both Mr. Jamison and me.” 

And now a change was coming. Since the trans- 
fer Mullen Lane property had begun to look up. 
A factory was going to be built in the vicinity, and 
that part of Greensboro was likely to offer a better 
field for real estate operations. 

Broxton Day knew all this, which Mrs. Carring- 
ford did not. He saw that what Strout wanted was 


204 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

to get the property back into his own hands again. 
He would refuse to renew the mortgage and frighten 
Mrs. Carringford into giving up her home. 

The way the matter figured out, the expense of 
paying interest and taxes on the Mullen Lane prop- 
erty was no greater than rental would be elsewhere 
for the Carringford family. In the end, if the 
widow held on, the place might really be more valu- 
able than it now was, and would sell for consider- 
ably more than she had agreed to pay Abel Strout 
for it. 

‘1 tell you what you do,” Broxton Day finally 
said, having thought the matter over. ‘‘Strout has 
told you he will accept a small payment on the mort- 
gage, and will then renew the balance for another 
year.” 

“Yes. But ought I to spend any more of the little 
sum I have left in that way, when my children may 
need it for food ?” asked the anxious widow. 

‘You show me by these papers that you are fixed 
fairly well for another year. You and your son 
will both earn something, of course, during the 
next twelve months. So if I were you, I would 
throw a sprat to catch a herring,” and he smiled. 

‘You mean?” the widow asked doubtfully. 

“I mean for you to offer him fifty dollars against 
the principal of the mortgage. No matter of whom 
you would get money, you would have to pay the 
same interest you pay Strout now. And no matter 


Stella Keeps One Secret 


205 


whom I might get money from for you, so that you 
could pay off Strout and get rid of him, there would 
be the additional expense of making the new mort- 
gage, and all that/' 

‘'But is he to be trusted ?” 

“Not at all. At the end of the year he will want 
more money, if he thinks you will have difficulty in 
getting it and there is a chance of your having to 
give up your home." 

“Oh!" 

“But a year from now I prophesy," said Mr. Day, 
“that your little house will be worth much more 
than it is to-day. At least it will be worth no less. 
It will be easier a year from now to raise another 
mortgage than it is right now. Just toll Strout 
along a little," and he laughed. 

“Do you think I can do this, Mr. Day?" asked 
Mrs. Carringford doubtfully. 

“You can do it for your children’s sake, I have 
no doubt. And remember, in any case, if Strout de- 
mands the entire mortgage paid at once, within 
three days I will try to obtain for you a new mort- 
gagee. You shall not lose your home, or what money 
you have already put into it, if I can help it.” 

“Oh, Mr. Day!" exclaimed the woman, warmly. 
“If T can go home with this confident feeling — " 

^‘You may. Of course, you are in debt. It is go- 
ing to be a hard struggle for you to get along. But 
your children are growing up and in time will be 


2 o 6 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

able to shoulder a part of the burden which you 
have assumed for their sake. Take courage, Mrs. 
Carringford. Everything will turn out right in the 
end, I am sure.’^ 

It was plain that Mrs. Carringford was greatly 
comforted. When she left, Janice whispered to her 
father: ‘Tm awfully proud of you, Daddy. You 
do have such a way with you V* 

But helping other people out of their troubles was 
not helping the Days out of their particular Slough 
of Despond. So many difficulties seemed reaching 
out to clutch at Janice and Daddy ! The girl thought 
it was like walking through a briar-patch. Every 
step they took, trouble retarded them. 

First and foremost the disappearance of that 
strange Olga Cedar strom, and the loss of the box 
of heirlooms, was continually in Janice’s mind. The 
girls at school knew about it, although only Amy 
knew just how serious the loss was to the Days. 

The puzzle regarding the girl named Olga who 
had helped in the Latham’s kitchen the night of 
Stella’s birthday party, had been noised abroad 
among Janice’s school friends, and more or less 
comment was made upon it. 

''Say, Janice, did you ever find out what became 
of that Swede who broke Mrs. Latham’s dish the 
night we were all there?” asked one of the girls one 
day. "Didn’t you say she might be the very girl 
who ran away from your house?” 


Stella Keeps One Secret 207 

‘‘Yes! I did think so. But it was not the same. 
Her friends said this girl was not named Cedar- 
strom.” 

‘Well, who’d want such a name, anyway?” 
laughed another of the party. 

Stella was herself one of those present; but at 
this time she was not speaking to Janice. She 
laughed maliciously when Janice Day had gone. 

‘What’s the matter with you, Stella?” asked Ber- 
tha Warring. “Your ‘ha, ha’ is like that of the vil- 
lain in the melodrama. What is the matter?” 

“Oh, never mind,” returned Stella, apparently 
very much enjoying her own secret thoughts. 

“Tell us, Stella; then we’ll all laugh,” urged an- 
other. 

“Oh, no! You girls say I can’t keep a secret. 
But I’ll show you — and that Janice Day — that I 
can. I know something about the Olga-girl that 
she’d like to know; but Janice shall never learn it 
from me,” and Stella laughed again maliciously. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE CLOSING OF SCHOOB 

Janice heard from Gummy and Amy just how 
Abel Strout acted and what he said when he came 
to see their mother about the renewal of the mort- 
gage and the payment of the half year’s interest. 
Gummy was very much excited over it 

‘‘You strought to see that Stout man, anyway — ** 

“Oh, dear, me. Gummy, there you go again!” 
gasped Janice, with laughter, while the boy’s sister 
giggled desperately, too. 

“What’s the matter now ?” he demanded, in some 
surprise. 

“Another lapsus linguae — I looked it up, and that 
is what they call it,” said Janice. 

“Say! why don’t you talk so people can under- 
stand you ?” Gummy demanded. “Don’t talk Latin 
to a fellow.” 

“And you sounded as though you were using ‘pig- 
Latin,’ ” laughed Amy. “You said we “strought’ to 
see Mr. ‘Stout’.” 

“Oh? Jicksy! Did T?” exclaimed the boy. “I’m 
always saying one thing and meaning another, aren’t 
I? Is that a lapsus linguae 


208 


The Closing of School 


209 


‘‘It is in this case, Gummy. But go on — do.^' 

“Well, Mr. S trout looks just like a piece of that 
green-speckled cheese Mr. Harriman has in his 
showcase — in the face, I mean.’^ 

“In the face of the showcase?” giggled Amy. 

“Or the face of the cheese?” asked Janice de- 
murely. 

“Now, say, you girls go too far,” complained 
Gummy, yet good-naturedly. “I mean Strout’s 
face. It looks like the cheese, for he's all speckled. 
And the cheese is called Rocky ford and tastes fun- 
nier than it looks.” 

“Oh, Oh!” cried Janice, “you’ve got your cheese 
mixed with melons this time. It is Rocky ford 
melons and Roquefort cheese.” 

“Jicksy! they sound pretty near the same,” 
grumbled Gummy. “Anyhow, that is how Abel 
Strout looks in the face — speckled. And he came 
in, in that yellow dust-coat of his, looking like a 
peeled sapling — so long and lean.” 

“My, what a wealth of description you have at 
your tongue's end,” cried Janice, still in a gale of 
laughter. “A face like Roquefort cheese with a 
figure like a peeled sapling. Well!” 

“You keep on, you girls, and I won’t ever get any- 
where,” complained Gummy. 

“Go on, Gummy,” urged Janice. 

“Well, he was Just as nasty-mean as he always is. 
The only time I ever saw him pleasant was when he 


210 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

was wheedling mother out of her money before she 
bought the house. But he started in real bossy this 
time.’’ 

“I should say he did,” agreed Amy, feelingly. 

“ Well, Mrs. Carringford,’ said Strout, ‘I hope 
you are ready to take up that mortgage right now, 
without no hanging back.’ He knew of course 
that mother didn’t have a whole thousand dollars 
left — no, sir ! He knows all right just what she had 
in the beginning, and that we’ve been living off it 
for more than a year,” said Gummy. 

‘*So mother told him she could not take up the 
mortgage. That she did not dare put any more 
money into the place — except the interest and the 
taxes — until prospects were brighter. 

‘‘Well,’ he said — mean old hunks! — ‘money is 
dreadful tight right now, and I don’t see how I can 
let you have a thousand any longer. ’Tain’t in the 
bill of agreement’ 

“Mother said: ‘Mr. Strout, when you sold me 
the place you said I could have plenty of time to 
pay for it. You knew my children were small and 
that I could not do much toward paying the mort- 
gage until they grew bigger and could help.’ 

“ ‘You got anything like that writ into your con- 
tract?’ asked Mr. Strout. 

“ ‘It was verbally understood,’ said mother. 

“ ‘That don’t mean nothin’ in business,’ said 
Strout. ‘I might tell you the moon was made o’ 


The Closing of School 


2II 


green cheese, but I wouldn’t guarantee it. Talk’s 
one thing; a written guarantee is another. That 
mortgage is writ for a year, and the year is up.’ 

‘‘Oh !” exclaimed Gummy hotly, “I could have hit 
him for speaking so mean to my mother.” 

“I don’t blame you,” Janice said sympathetically. 
“But never mind. Tell the rest.” 

“Why, all mother could say was what your father 
told her to say. She said: ‘You said when you 
were here several weeks ago that you would let me 
pay off some of the principal and let the mortgage 
stand.’ 

“‘How much?’ he snapped at her — just like a 
hungry dog at a bone, you know,” continued 
Gummy. 

“ ‘I will spare fifty dollars,’ said mother. 

“ ‘Fifty fiddlestrings !’ shouted Strout. ‘Won’t 
bear to it! Won’t listen to it!’ 

“But already, you see,” chuckled Gummy, 
“mother had pushed the interest money toward him 
across the table. He grabbed it. He couldn’t keep 
his hands off real money, I guess — ^his own or any- 
body else’s.” 

“Oh, Gummy!” murmured Amy. 

“Well, didn’t he just act so?” cried the boy. 
“Why, he counted that interest money just as 
hungrily! And he folded it and put it in his wal- 
let.” 

“You tell it just as it was,” sighed Amy. 


212 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

course I do. Well, mother said: You can 
give me my receipt for that, Mr. S trout, if you 
don’t mind.’ And then he did go off the handle!” 
chortled Gummy. ‘You see, he had tricked him- 
self.” 

“How was that. Gummy?” Janice asked wonder- 
ingly. 

“He made mother pay interest on the note six 
months in advance. When he accepted that interest 
he — what do you call it? — Oh! He tacitly renewed 
the note, which runs what they call concurrently 
with the mortgage. So the mortgage is good for 
another year.” 

“Oh! Is that what daddy told your mother to 
do?” cried Janice. “Now I understand.” 

“Yep. That was the trick — and it was a good 
one!” exclaimed the delighted Gummy. 

“Oh ! Daddy didn’t mean it as a trick — 

“Not a tricky trick,” explained Gummy volubly. 
“Of course not. But mother just let Mr. Strout 
trick himself. When he saw what he had done he 
tried to hand the money back ; but mother said : 

“‘Oh, no, sir! You can give me the written re- 
ceipt or not, just as you please. Both of these chil- 
dren’ — ^that’s Amy and me — ‘saw me give you the 
money and know its purpose. Their testimony is 
good in court. You Have refused any payment on 
the principal of the mortgage ; but you have accepted 
interest Tor the ensuing six months. You have 


The Closing of School 


213 


therefore renewed the note for a year, as it is writ- 
ten for a year/ 

‘'Oh, wasn’t Strout mad !” chuckled Gummy. 

“And I was proud of mamma,” added Amy. 

“You bet! Strout said to mother: ‘Somebody’s 
been talking to you — I can see that.’ 

“ ‘Yes, they have,’ she told him. ‘And somebody 
who knows you very well, Mr. Strout.’ Meaning 
your father, Janice, of course. 

“ ‘So you think you will hold on to this shack and 
make something on it, do you?’ he remarked. 

“ ‘At least,’ mother answered, ‘I hope to keep it 
for a shelter for my children and not lose what I 
have put in it.’ 

“ ‘Well,’ said he, in such a nasty tone ! ‘you just 
wait!’ And then he stamped out of the house.” 

“Oh, but I am afraid of him,” sighed Amy. “He 
spoke so threateningly.” 

“Yes, Momsy and Amy think he has something 
up his sleeve,” said Gummy, carelessly. “But I 
think Abel Strout is licked, thanks to Mr. Day.” 

Janice was very careful to repeat the particulars 
of this scene Gummy had so vividly related to her 
father in the evening. 

“Maybe he has something ‘up his sleeve,’ as Gum- 
my says,” Janice observed. “Can that be possible, 
do you think. Daddy?” 

“Well, it is hard to say. Now that I have gone 
into this thing for Mrs. Carringford, I suppose I 


214 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


might go a little deeper. Do you know if she had 
the title to that property searched before she bought 

nr 

‘I’ll ask her, Daddy.” 

“Don’t ask in a way to frighten her,” advised Mr. 
Day, on second thought. “It may be all right. Just 
ask her who looked up the title. Tell her I will 
have the money ready for her to take up Strout’s 
mortgage when it becomes due next time; but that 
meanwhile I shall have to have the title searched if 
that was not done before.” 

“Oh, Daddy ! do you believe there could be some 
— some — ” 

“Some flaw in it?” asked her father, supplying 
the word that Janice had heard but could not 
remember. 

“Yes.” 

“There might be. This is an old part of Greens- 
boro, and some of the old titles conflicted.” 

“But then Mrs. Carringford would not have to 
lose, would she? Wouldn’t Mr. Strout have to give 
her back her money ?” 

“Perhaps not. Not if he could prove that he 
knew nothing about the flaw in the title. Or rather, 
not if Mrs. Carringford could not prove that Strout 
did know his title was fraudulent. Besides, the place 
might have been sold for taxes some time. That 
would invalidate the title in this State, unless the 


The Closing of School 215 

original owner, or his heirs, who owed the taxes, had 
quitclaimed.” 

“Dear me. Daddy Day!” she cried, “it sounds 
awfully complicated.” 

“It is, for little girls. But we will see what we 
shall see,” which to say the least, was not a very 
comforting statement. 

Janice had found a colored woman who lived at 
the end of Love Street to take the washing home 
each week and who did it very satisfactorily. But 
the woman had small children and so could not go 
out to work. 

Besides, such women as they had hired to come in 
to work by the day had been very unsatisfactory. 
Nobody seemed to take any interest in the work. 

“Why,” Janice thought, “we haven’t even cleaned 
house properly this spring. And here it is June — 
and school almost closing !” 

It was a fact that the last few days of the spring 
term were at hand. Janice was so busy that she 
did not know what to do. When she went to see 
Mrs. Carringford to ask her the question Daddy 
had told her to put, she broke down and cried, tell- 
ing Amy’s mother how bad she felt about the house. 

“I got down the curtains and put them to soak; 
but I can’t starch them and put them on the stretcher 
and hang them again,” confessed Janice. “The 
house looks so bare ! And every inch of paint needs 


2i6 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


scrubbing — even in the rooms that Mrs. Watkins 
shut up so tight. She did not clean the paint.” 

‘‘Can't you hire somebody to help you?” asked 
Mrs. Carringford. 

“If you mean can daddy pay for it — ^he'd be glad 
to!” cried Janice. “But I just can't find anybody 
at all.” 

“I might come over and help you a couple of days, 
Janice,” said Mrs. Carringford, doubtfully. 

“Oh ! could you ?” 

“I can't come very early in the morning ; but Amy 
can get supper for the children, so that I could stay 
until after your dinner at night, Janice.” 

“Mrs. Carringford! if you'll come and help us,” 
gasped Janice, “I think I'll just cry for joy.” 

“Don't do that, my dear. Of course, this is only 
a stop-gap. But I will try to do what I can for 
you toward cleaning house and putting everything 
to rights again.” 

And a single day's work made such a difference! 
Daddy came into the house toward evening without 
knowing what Janice had arranged with Mrs. Car- 
ringford, and began to “snuff” at once. 

“Why, Janice, how clean everything smells!” 
he cried when the girl ran to meet him. “What is 
happening?” 

“We are cleaning house. At least, she is.” 

“‘W.^ Who?” he cried. 

‘You'll never guess.” 


flhe Closing of School 217 

‘'I — I — Surely none of the neighbors has taken 
pity on us and come in to clean?” 

‘‘That is exactly what has happened,” Janice said. 
“Mrs. Carringford, Daddy!” 

“Mrs. Carringford !” he repeated. “Not come to 
work for us?” 

“Oh, dear I I wish she was going to work for us 
all the time,” confessed the girl with a sigh. “But 
she is going to put us all straight once more, at 
least. The children don^t want her to go out to 
work ; but she will do this for us.” 

“Well, ‘small mercies thankfully received; larger 
ones in proportion,’ ” murmured daddy. “The 
whole house to be cleaned once more? And with- 
out my Janice to be dragging herself to death?” 

“Oh, Daddy!” 

“Well, I have been worried, dear,” he confessed. 
“I wrote your Aunt Almira, half promising that you 
should go to see them after school closed.” 

“Oh, Daddy!” shrieked Janice again. “To Poke- 
town ?” 

“You won’t find it so bad. And you need a rest, 
I believe. This old house 

“Oh! you sha’n’t talk so about our beautiful 
home,” gasped Janice. 

“If it is going to be such a burden to you, my 
dear 

“It isn’t ! It isn’t !” she cried excitedly, and actu- 
ally stamping her feet. “You don’t mean to shut 


2i8 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

up our home, Daddy ? I won’t hear to it,” and she 
burst into a flood of tears. 

Mrs. Carringford came into the living-room, neat, 
smiling, and very, very good to look upon, the man 
thought. It was a blessing to have a real house- 
keeper, and homemaker as well, in the house. 

‘'Quite overwrought, Mr. Day,” she said putting 
her arms about the sobbing Janice. “She works too 
hard and tries to do too much.” 

“I know it,” he said, shaking his head. 

“And, besides,” said the good woman, “Janice is 
growing up. She is growing too fast, perhaps. And 
she does need, Mr. Day, something that no father — 
no matter how willing and thoughtful he may be — 
can give her.” 

“That is ?” asked the man, paling a little. 

“The companionship of a woman, Mr. Day,” said 
Mrs. Carringford. “She should be more with some 
woman whom you can trust. Not the women you 
have had here to work for you.” 

Janice had run away to bathe her eyes and make 
herself tidy. Broxton Day listened to this woman’s 
advise with a serious countenance. 

“I was just suggesting her going to spend a part 
of the summer with her aunt in Vermont. And she 
doesn’t want to,” he explained. 

“That would take her a long way from you — and 
from her home. She loves her home, Mr. Day. 
Janice is a born homemaker, I believe.” 


The Closing of School 


219 


“What can I do, then ?“ exclaimed the man, at his 
wit's end. “Were any people ever situated so un- 
fortunately as Janice and I?“ 

“There have been thousands like you and your 
daughter," said Mrs. Carringford. “Janice will be 
all right after school closes, for she will not have 
so much to do. Let her books rest this summer. See 
that she plays instead of works. If you will, let her 
be a good deal with other girls." 

“I would be willing to have her fill the house 
with them. Only that, too, adds to the work.” 

“Well, we'll see,” sighed Mrs. Carringford, pre- 
paring to go back to the kitchen. “She can run 
over and see my Amy, and Amy can come here. 
They are about the same age, and like kittens they 
should play more than work. I will gladly do what 
I can for you, Mr. Day. You have been very kind 
to me and mine." 

He wanted to tell her that that was not so. That 
he had really done nothing, and the favor was 
on the other side. But she hurried away to attend 
to dinner. 

And it was a nice dinner that was served at the 
Day table that evening. Like the faded-out lady, 
Mrs. Carringford sat down to eat with them. But 
there was a different air about Mrs. Carringford. 
She was really a gentlewoman. 

Janice recovered her spirits and chattered like a 
magpie; and Mr. Day himself found that for the 


220 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

first time in many months, he had really enjoyed a 
well-cooked meal and a social meal at his own 
table. 

Mrs. Carringford came day after day until the 
entire house was cleaned. Daddy found a man to 
clean up the yard, cart away ashes, smooth the 
walks and dig over the flowerbeds. The local florist 
supplied growing plants for out of doors, and the 
Day place bloomed again as it was wont to do 
when Mrs. Day was alive. 

Meanwhile Janice and her mates were just as 
busy as bees concluding the spring term at school. 
There were the final examinations which were now 
close at hand. Janice really trembled over these. 

‘'My sakes, Amy! what if I shouldn't pass? I'm 
awfully shaky on physiology, especially." 

"Goodness, Janice! you'll pass, of course. Any- 
body as bright and quick as you are!" 

"It's awfully nice of you to say that. But my 
recitations have gone off like anything lately and I 
really am afraid of these exams." 

Amy tried to comfort her friend, but with little 
success. 

Then there were many outside pleasures, and 
Janice, in a happier mood this time, remarked that 
school really did interfere with the real business of 
life — such as the picnics that the beautiful spring 
days made so thoroughly pleasurable. 

"Dear me, I’d like to go to a picnic every day,” 


The Closing of School 


221 


she sighed happily to Amy one Saturday afternoon, 
after jolly hours spent with the boys and girls of 
her circle of closest friends in the woods, now white 
with dogwood. 

Some of the girls were going away for a part of 
the summer vacation. But Janice would not admit 
that she even contemplated such a change. 

Stella Latham was one of those who expected to 
migrate. She was going to some relatives who had 
a summer place on the shore of one of the Great 
Lakes, and she talked a good deal about it. 

But she did not talk to Janice. All she said in 
the latter’s hearing was something that only puzzled 
and annoyed daddy’s daughter. 

‘T guess if somebody who thinks she is so smart 
only knew what I know about that Swedish girl, 
Olga, she’d give her very eyes to have me tell her — 
so now!” 

‘T don’t even know what she means,” confessed 
Janice, wearily, to Amy. 

*'She just means to be mean — ^that’s all !” said the 
practical Amy, 


CHAPTER XXII 


SOMETHING DOES HAPPEN 

**1 HOPE something will happen so I can^t go to 
Poketown,” was the thought continually rising to 
the surface of the troubled pool of Janice Day’s 
mind. 

She did not know what Mrs. Carringford had 
said to daddy, nor how much he had been influenced 
by that wise woman’s observations regarding this 
very matter. So, as the days went by, Janice con- 
tinued to fear the worst. 

For the very worst that could happen, Janice 
thought, was for her to be separated from her father 
and from her home. When the possibility of his 
having to go to Mexico was first talked about, the 
thought of their separation had made a very deep 
impression on the girl’s mind. She had never 
recovered — how could she? — from the going away 
of her mother. If her father went out of her life 
too, it seemed to Janice as though she would be an 
orphan indeed. 

So, without knowing anything personally about 
her Aunt Almira or Uncle Jason or Marty, her 


222 


Something Does Happen 223; 

cousin, the girl felt that their association could in 
no way replace that of daddy. 

‘‘I just wish something would happen so that I 
couldn't go to Poketown," was repeated over and 
over in her thought. 

'Terhaps that is wicked," Janice told herself. 
'"But wicked, or not, it does seem as though it would 
just kill me to leave home." 

After Mrs. Carringford had finished cleaning 
house, the home seemed so much better and brighter 
that Janice loved it more than ever. She did not 
want to leave eight hundred and forty-five Knight 
Street, even for a day. 

‘I don't care if Arlo Junior does toll cats into our 
back kitchen and we entertain dancing bears and 
that half-crazy Delia and folks like Mrs. Watkins or 
Olga Cedarstrom," she said to daddy. ‘This is 
just the nicest house in all the world. Don't you 
think so yourself, Daddy?" 

“I never expect to have so much happiness in 
another house as I have had in this one, my dear," 
Mr. Day said. “And we will hope for more happi- 
ness here in the future. But my little girl must not 
try to do everything. It is all right to be a home- 
maker; but you must not try to do it all yourself. 
We must find somebody to help, regularly." 

Secretly Janice was urging Mrs. Carringford to 
come every day to the house and keep it in that 
‘'neat as a new pin” condition in which the sweet- 


224 Janice Day, the Young Homemalcet' 


natured woman had left it when the extra cleaning 
was finished. 

‘^But my dear child, how will my own house get 
along without me? Amy cannot do it all, even if it 
is vacation-time.” 

‘‘But, dear Mrs. Carringford, just think!” begged 
Janice. “Kate and Sydney are both big enough to 
help Amy.” 

“And they are a team 1” sighed Mrs. Carringford. 

“They’ll be good. They will do a good deal for 
me,” said Janice frankly. 

“You bribe the twins.” 

“Oh, they are only teeny, weeny bribes, and of 
course children expect pay when they do things for 
you. Look how eagerly Gummy works for his pay,” 
for Gummy was working every day for Mr. Harri- 
man now, and his wages had been doubled. 

“Don’t let him hear you catalogue him as a 
child,” said the boy’s mother, smiling. “I must do 
nothing to neglect my own brood. Yet I feel that 
I must earn money. Gummy’s wages will not even 
feed us* And it will last only until September. He 
must go back to school again then.” 

“Then come and see daddy,” urged Janice. ‘You 
know he’ll be more than glad to have you. Why, it 
would be just heavenly for us !” 

“I must think about it,” said the over-urgec' 
woman. “If I could get work in a store downtown 
I would have more regular hours perhaps. For a 



“We must get that woman out of the house, Janice/’ 




Something Does Happen 225 

home cannot be kept on an eight-hour-a-day sched- 
ule.” 

But Janice hoped. To do something to bring 
about peace and comfort for daddy and herself had 
been her determination for weeks. If only Mrs. 
Carringford could be coaxed to agree, Janice fore- 
saw plain sailing. 

This had been her hope ever since she had seen 
how perfectly Amy’s mother kept her own poor cot- 
tage. It had been her hope when she had first 
brought Mrs. Carringford and Mr. Day together. 
But would her hope come to fruition? 

Nevertheless, she was happier now that she did 
not have to go to school. She had time to work out 
of doors in the flowerbeds and to get dainty little 
suppers, sometimes, for daddy. 

Yet, at other times she was very tired. She 
showed daddy a cheerful countenance almost al- 
ways. But there were occasions when Janice Day 
felt anything but cheerful “inside,” as she expressed 
it. 

Somehow daddy seemed to guess, however, when 
she was not quite herself during these sultry days, 
for often at breakfast he said: 

“Daughter, dress yourself in your best bib and 
tucker and meet me at the Corner of Joyce Street 
at four-thirty. I’ll be on the Maplewood car and 
will save a seat for you. We will go out to the 
Branch Inn for supper.” 


226 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

Such excursions delighted Janice, especially with 
daddy. It made her feel positively grown up to be 
taken about by such a well-groomed and handsome 
man as Broxton Day. 

And almost everywhere they went people seemed 
to know daddy. Even the managers and waiters at 
the inns and restaurants knew him, for Mr. Day 
often attended business conferences and luncheons 
with the bank’s customers, at these places. 

Sometimes very well dressed men came and sat 
down at their table and talked business with Broxton 
Day. They were always very kind and polite to 
Janice. 

But whenever she heard Mexico and the Mexican 
mines mentioned, the girl was worried and listened 
attentively. She knew that those properties down 
beyond the Rio Grande in which her father was 
interested so deeply, were still in a very uncertain 
state. As yet dividends from her father’s invest- 
ment, she knew, had been very small. 

She thought daddy watched her very closely at 
tim.es. His keen glance seemed almost like that of a 
person ‘lying in wait” for one. That was the way 
Janice expressed it to herself. 

She did not understand what these looks meant. 
Did he doubt that she was really quite as cheerful 
and happy as she would appear? 

On her own part, after she had gone to bed, Jan- 
ice Day listened often for his step, to and fro, hour 


Something Does Happen 227 

after hour, on the honeysuckle-sheltered porch. Was 
he thinking about the lost letters? Would neither 
he nor his daughter ever be able to get over — ^to 
forget — the mementoes of dear mother, and their 
disappearance with Olga Cedarstrom? 

Janice often cried herself to sleep thinking of this 
loss. But she cried quietly so that daddy should not 
hear her; and she was always very careful in the 
morning to remove all traces of tears or sleeplessness 
before appearing in his presence at the breakfast 
table. 

“What’s been done to-day, daughter?” was often 
daddy’s question at night, accompanied by one of his 
keenly interrogating glances. 

When she catalogued the day’s industries some- 
times he shook his head. 

“But where is the fun? When do you play? 
What have you been doing to celebrate your free- 
dom from the scholastic yoke?” he would demand. 

“We-ell, you know, Daddy, I can’t be a gadabout 
all the time — and with Miss Peckham watching me 
from behind her blinds every time I go out,” and 
she giggled. 

“Miss Peckham be eternally — Hem ! I don’t sup- 
pose I can use strong language in regard to the ladv 
who has washed her hands of us, can V” 

“Not very strong language. Daddy,” she rejoined, 
laughing aloud now. 

“Well, in that case, we’ll merely ignore our 


228 Janice Day, tHe Young Homemaker 


neighbor. That means you, too, Janice; and you 
must play a little more in spite of Miss Peckham.” 

'"But, Daddy, I do play, as you call it. There 
was the picnic in Emmon’s Woods, and the straw 
ride to Qewitt ” 

‘"And the picnic on the Latham farm to which I 
foimd you did not go,’’ interrupted daddy. “How 
about that, daughter?” 

“Oh — oh — well, you know. Daddy, I — I ^ 

“What’s all this stammering about, honey?’* 
asked daddy, putting his arm about his daughter. 

“Daddy, Amy and I just couldn’t go to that pic- 
nic. Of course, it was not given by Stella, but by 
all the boys and girls of our crowd, but it was 

on Stella’s farm. And Well, Daddy, Stella 

doesn’t really like Amy and me just now. It’s 
nothing — just about that dress Amy wore to Stella’s 
party. I told you all about that. Stella promised 
not to tell, you know, and then she did. I’m not 
mad at Stella — I was, though, for a while — ^but 
she’s still mad at me. She’ll be all right in a little 
while, though. Daddy.” 

“I trust so, daughter. Do your best to make 
friends again. You will all be happier if you are 
on a friendly footing with your companions.” 

These first days of the long vacation were not 
really happy ones for Janice, although she tried to 
make believe they were. All the time she was hoping 


Something Does HappeU 229 

to herself that daddy would not insist on her visit- 
ing his relatives in the East 

He had not really said that he contemplated send- 
ing her willy-nilly, to Aunt Almira. Yet the girl 
felt that daddy believed her health called for a 
change. And that was not what she needed. She 
was sure that the air of Poketown would never in 
this world make her feel any happier or healthier 
than she felt right here at home in Greensboro. 

just hope something will happen to keep me 
from going to Poketown-— or anywhere else,” Jan- 
ice repeated, over and over again. 

And then, it did happen. Nothing that she had 
imagined, of course. 

And this happening shocked Janice Day almost as 
much as anything could. It came in the afternoon, 
when she was getting dinner for daddy. She heard 
the clang of a gong, and an automobile stopped be- 
fore the house. She ran to the window. It was a 
white painted ambulance — ^not from the City Hos- 
pital, but a private ambulance. And two men in 
white uniforms were preparing to take somebody 
on a stretcher out of the car. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE SILVER LINING TO A VERY BLACK CLOUD 

Janice dropped the mixing spoon and the dish- 
cloth and ran out upon the side porch, and from 
thence down the steps and the walk to the gate. Her 
heart beat so that she could scarcely get her breath. 

The white uniformed men were drawing the 
stretcher out of the ambulance, and Janice, horrified 
and all but breathless, suddenly saw her father sit- 
ting up on the stretcher. 

‘‘Don’t be scared, Janice. Be a brave girl,” he 
cried. “It is only my leg.” 

“But — but what have they done to your leg, 
Daddy ?” she cried, wringing her hands. 

One of the uniformed men laughed. It was a 
cheerful laugh, and he was a jolly looking man. But 
Janice thought it was very easy indeed for him to 
laugh. 

“It isn’t his leg — or any of his relations!” she 
thought. 

“I tell you what they have done to him,” he said, 
taking hold of both handles at the foot of the 
Stretcher. “They have just set a compound fracture 


230 


Silver Lining to a iVery Black Cloud 231 

below the knee and put it into splints. Your daddy 
is going to have a glass leg for some time to come, 
and you must take good care of it. Where shall we 
carry him ?” 

While he spoke and the other man was taking 
hold of the other handles of the stretcher, Mr. Day 
lay down again. He did not groan, but he was very 
white. He gave Janice’s hand a strong grip, how- 
ever, when she got to him. 

‘Tluck up your courage, dear,” he said. ‘‘This is 
no killing matter.” 

But now neighbors began to hurry to them. Chil- 
dren, of course, for Knight Street was well supplied 
with them. But Mrs. Arlo Weeks and Mrs. Peck- 
inpaw came from across the street, while Miss Peck- 
ham appeared from her cottage. 

‘‘Dear met was he picked up that way?” asked 
Mrs. Weeks, in her high, strident tone. “My Arlo 
had a fit once ” 

“’Tain’t a fit,” said Mrs. Peckinpaw, who was a 
very old woman and who never spoke to Miss 
Peckham because of some neighborhood squabble 
which had happened so long before that neither of 
them remembered what it was about. 

“’Tain’t a fit,” she said acidly; “for then they 
foam at the mouth, or drool. I never knew he had 
anything the matter with him, chronic.” 

The jolly looking man laughed. Miss Peckham 


232 Janice Day, tKe Young Homemaker 

on the other side of the stretcher, and without look- 
ing at the other women, asked: 

^'Oughtn't he be took to the hospital? There’s 
nobody here to take care of him but that fly-away 
young one.” 

‘T won’t have him taken to a hospital!” cried 
Janice stormily ‘You bring him right into the 
house ” 

“Well, ’tain’t fittin’,” said Miss Peckham decid- 
edly. 

“I guess both Mr. Day and his daughter know 
what they want,” said the cheerful looking man, 
decidedly. “He wanted to be brought home. Now, 
my little lady, where shall we put him? All ready. 
Bill?” 

“All ready,” said Bill, who had the handles at the 
head of the stretcher. 

“But what’s the matter with him?” demanded 
Mrs. Peckinpaw again. “Is it ketchin’ ?” 

“He has a compound fracture of the tibia,” de- 
clared the cheerful man. 

“Oh! My mercy!” ejaculated Mrs. Peckinpaw, 
shrinking away from the stretcher. “I — I didn’t 
know Mr. Day drank!” 

She had evidently heard alcoholism called by 
so many queer sounding terms that anything she did 
not understand she set down to that dread trouble. 
But Miss Peckham had run ahead into the house. 


Silver Lining to a Very Black Cloud 233 

‘'Take him right up to his bedroom/’ she said 
commandingly to the men with the stretcher. 

"Well, if that woman’s goin’ to take hold, they 
don’t need me,” said Mrs. Peckinpaw, snappishly, 
and she retained her stand upon the strictly neutral 
ground of the sidewalk. 

Mrs. Arlo Weeks was "all of a quiver,” as she her- 
self said. She followed the men as far as the steps 
and there sank to a seat. 

"My, my! I feel just like fainting,” she mur- 
mured. 

Meanwhile the two uniformed men were carrying 
Mr. Day into the house. 

"Right up here!” cried Miss Peckham from the 
stairway. 

"No,” said Mr. Day, "put me on the couch in the 
living room. Fix it, Janice.” 

At this Janice awoke from her apathy. She 
rushed in ahead and fixed the pillows on the couch, 
and got a warm cover to put over him. 

"Pm to be laid up some weeks,” Mr. Day said 
courageously. "I don’t want to be put upstairs 
where I don’t know a thing about what’s going on 
in the house. I’ll stay downstairs.” 

"That couch ought to be made up like a bed for 
you, Mr. Day,” said the cheerful man, as Janice 
dropped down the back which made it into a bed- 
lounge. 


234 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

‘‘Do that later/’ said Mr. Day. “Here! where’s 
Mrs. Weeks.?” 

Janice ran to call her. Miss Peckham was de- 
scending the stairs, her nose in the air. She seemed 
offended that she could not rule the proceedings. 

“Mrs. Weeks,” said Janice to the woman from 
across the street, “will you come in? Father wants 
to speak to you.” 

“I — I don’t know as my legs will carry me/* 
sighed Mrs. Weeks. “Have they put him to bed? 
Has he got his clo’es off?” 

“He just wishes to speak to you,” explained Jan- 
ice. “Right in here.” 

She led the way into the living room. Miss Peck- 
ham was still “sniffing” in the doorway. The two 
ambulance men were preparing to depart. 

“When Arlo Weeks comes home from business, 
tell him I want to see him,” said Mr. Day to the 
woman. “He’ll help me off with my clothes and 
get me into bed here. I shall be all right.” 

He spoke quite cheerfully now, and even Janice 
was recovering her self-possession. 

“Oh, well, ril tell him,” murmured Mrs. Weeks. 
“I’m sick o’ shock, myself. But we have to sacrifice 
when our neighbors needs us. Yes, Mr. Day, I’ll 
send Arlo over.” 

She trailed out after the two men. Miss Peck- 
ham sniffed after her, too. 

“Well,” the spinster said, “I can make him some 


Silver Lining to a Very Black Cloud 235 

broth. He'll need nourishing victuals. And he ain't 
been gettin' anything of late, I guess, but what that 
child's messed up.” 

She departed kitchen ward. Janice and daddy 
looked at each other hopelessly. Then together, and 
in chorus, they murmured: 

‘‘But I thought she had washed her hands of us !” 

“I don't want broth,” grumbled Broxton Day, 
after a minute. “I want my dinner. What have you 
got that's good, Janice?” 

“Stew — lamb stew. Nice,” she groaned. “And 
plenty of vegetables like you like.” 

“ ‘Like you like' is almost as good as the stew will 
be,” chuckled her father faintly. “We must get 
that woman out of the house, Janice. She will be an 
Old Man of the Sea.” 

“No, no !” giggled the girl. “An ‘Old Maid of the 
Sea,' you mean.” 

“Maybe I do. But how to get rid of her 

“I know! Wait!” Janice dashed out of the room 
and out of the house. A crowd of children was still 
at the gate. 

“Arlo Junior!” she called into the dusk, “Come 
here ! I want you.” 

“You want my pa. He ain’t home yet,” said 
Junior, drawing near slowly. 

want you to do an errand for me,” said Jan- 
ice hastily. *‘Come here — close. I’ll tell you. Your 
mother won’t mind.” 


236 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

^'AU right,” said Junior, offering an attentive 
ear. 

‘You know where Gummy Carringford lives?” 

“Course I do.” 

“Well, you run there, and see his mother; and 
you tell her 

Janice in whispers told the boy just what to say 
to Mrs. Carringford, and he repeated it before he 
darted off on the errand. Arlo Junior was a great 
boy to play tricks, but he would not play them at 
such a time as this. 

Janice went back to her father's side and left 
Miss Peckham, whom she heard moving about the 
kitchen, strictly alone. Daddy told her all about 
the accident. 

It seemed, when he came down the stairs from 
the Chamber of Commerce, where he had gone on 
an errand, a scrubwoman had left a cake of soap 
on the next to the top step.” 

“Of course, it was just my luck to find it for her,” 
said Broxton Day, with rather a grim laugh. “May- 
be she wanted that soap. But I did not. I kicked 
right up, Janice, and it is a wonder I did not break 
my back as well as my leg.” 

“Oh, Daddy!” 

“I landed so hard at the bottom of the flight that 
I was unconscious for a few minutes. Luckily Dr. 
Bowles, the surgeon; has offices in that very build- 
ing. They picked me up and carried me to him 


Silver Lining to a .Very Black Cloud 237 

and he fixed up the leg. It will be as good as new, he 
says, after a while/’ 

“Oh, dear, Daddy ! you might have been killed,” 
cried Janice, suddenly sobbing. 

“Well, it’s all over now — ^but the shouting,” mut- 
tered Mr. Day, his face suddenly contorted with 
pain. “Don’t fuss, my dear. This is something that 
can be mended, I am sure. Don’t give way to tears.” 

“Oh, but. Daddy ! I know ! I know !” sobbed the 
girl, hiding her face in his shoulder. “But some- 
thing did happen — and I — I wished for itT 

“Wished for me to break my leg ?” gasped daddy. 

“Oh, no! Oh, no! But I wished something 
would happen so that I would not have to go to live 
at Poketown this summer. And — ^now — something 
— ^has — ^happened.” 

“Quite true, my dear,” said Mr. Day, after a 
moment’s silence, ‘^ou got your wish. But as 
usual, you did not get it just as you wished it. Still, 
the very blackest cloud has its silver lining.” 

Janice could not imagine a silver lining to this 
cloud — ^not just at that moment. She only realized 
that daddy was suffering from an accident that it 
did seem her wish had brought to him. It was a 
very serious and disturbing thought for the girl. 

Janice did not want to go out into the kitchen 
to see what Miss Peckham was about. She had left 
the tender breast and shoulder of Iamb for the 
stew simmering on the back of the stove, and the 


238 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


vegetables were all ready to put in it. What the 
spinster would do toward making broth Janice did 
not know. And daddy did not want broth. 

Just now, however, the girl felt too much dis- 
turbed to entertain an argument with Miss Martha 
Peckham. Things would have to go on as they 
would, until 

Suddenly Janice heard voices in the kitchen — 
Miss Peckham’ s high-pitched voice and another. 
Janice saw that her father was quiet and did not no- 
tice, so she got up from his side and stole to the 
kitchen door to listen. 

‘Well, ma’am!” exclaimed Miss Peckham, ‘T 
don’t see as it’s any more of your business than ’tis 
mine. I’m makin’ this gruel ” 

“And I will finish preparing the dinner, if you do 
not mind, Miss Peckham,” said the soft voice of 
Mrs. Carringford. “I see that Janice has it almost 
ready. Do you think. Miss Peckham, that a man 
with a broken leg needs gruel?” 

“Well, I couldn’t find nothing to make broth 
out of ” 

“Or broth?” pursued Mrs. Carringford. “I know 
Mr. Day’s appetite, and I do not believe that a 
broken leg has made it any the less hearty.” 

“Seems to me you know a good deal!” snapped 
Miss Peckham. “Specially about this kitchen.” 

“You know, I have been working here for some 
time,” Mrs. Carringford said. “Thank you. Miss 


Silver Lining to a Very Black Cloud 239 

Peckham. You need not stay. If there is anything 
we need you for, I will let you know. Good-night.” 

The spinster banged out at the kitchen door with- 
out even coming into the front part of the house. 

‘‘Not even to ‘wash her hands of us’ again!” 
giggled Janice, who ran out into the kitchen with a 
cry of joy. 

“Oh, Mrs. Carringford !” she said, throwing her 
arms about the woman’s neck, “ have you really 
come to stay?” 

“I guess I shall have to, my dear. Daytimes, 
anyway,” said Amy’s mother, kissing her. “You’d 
soon go to rack and ruin here with the neighbors 
coming in and littering everything up. Yes, tell 
your father I will accept the offer he made me. And 
now, we’ll have dinner just as soon as possible. 
How is he ?” 

“He says he is all right,” gasped Janice, catching 
her breath. “And he says there is always a silver 
lining to the very blackest cloud. Now I know he’s 
right. You are the silver lining to this cloud, Mrs. 
Carringford — ^you really, truly are!” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


^'WHERE there’s SHORE THERE's FIRE” 

If it had not been for Mrs. Carringford’s pres- 
ence in the house, this experience certainly would 
have been a very hard one for Janice Day. For 
although the trials of housekeeping had been serious 
for the young girl, they were not all that hacj^so 
vexed her and weighted her mind with sorrow. 

But her father’s injury shocked her out of the 
mental rut which she had been following. She had 
to wait on him, hand and foot; and it gave her so 
many new thoughts and new things to do, that for 
a time at least Janice Day’s old troubles were pretty 
much sloughed away. 

They had managed to make Mr. Day comfortable 
on the living-room couch, and it was easier to care 
for him there than it would have been were he in 
his bedroom. Besides, he very much objected to 
*'being invalided to the upper story” while he was 
tied down with a broken leg. 

Mr. Arlo Weeks came in night and morning to 
help turn the injured man, and remake his bed. 
Mr. Weeks was, after all, a good neighbor; he was 


240 


Where There^s Smoke There’s Fire” 241 


more helpful than anybody else who came to the Day 
house, save Mrs. Carringford. 

The surgeon came now and then to restrap the 
broken leg. Some of Mr. Day’s business associates 
called to see how he was getting on. The injured 
man was not hard to take care of. He could read, 
propped up on the couch, and although he suffered 
considerable pain he did not allow Janice to discover 
that he was uncomfortable. 

But at first he did not sleep well at night, and he 
had some fever. Mrs. Carringford was careful in 
his diet; and she never seemed to contradict him 
or to thwart his wishes. She had a way with her 
that Janice could but admire and pattern after. 

The girl saw that even daddy was not quite his 
very sensible self when he was an invalid. He had 
to be humored at times; and they did all that was 
possible to keep him from fretting. 

Broxton Day had been a very active man. Busi- 
ness affairs of which he had sole charge were bound 
to go wrong when he could not wield power as he 
was wont. And these things all bothered him when 
the nagging pain of the broken leg increased, as it 
sometimes did, at night. 

‘^Oh, what should I have done without you, Mrs. 
Carringford?” breathed Janice, often taking com- 
fort in the kindly woman’s arms for a momentary 
hug. I do think Amy and Gummy and the little 


242 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

ones are awfully nice not to make any more objec- 
tion than they do to your being up here/’ 

*'Ohy they quarrel enough with me about it at 
times,” laughed Mrs. Carringford. ‘‘But I tell them 
if it was not here, it would have to be somewhere 
else. I have got to work, my dear. I can see that 
plainly. Every day the appetites of my little family 
increase and their needs grow. The rate at which 
Kate and Edna May and Syd wear out shoes — 
Well!” 

“Let them go barefooted,” giggled Janice. “I 
know they are teasing you all the time about it.” 

“No !” cried Mrs. Carringford, with warmth. “I 
know we live in Mullen Lane and it is not always 
possible for me to dress my children as nicely as I 
wish; but they shall not run barefoot like the little 
hoodlums that live about us. And Syd bothers me 
to death about it.” 

But Janice could only laugh a bit at this. She 
herself sometimes ran barefooted around the house 
and yard, though she was growing too big for that 
now, and she did not blame the little Carringfords 
for wanting to do so. 

At any rate, she was very, very grateful to Mrs. 
Carringford for stepping into the breach at this time 
and helping them — and grateful to Amy and Gum- 
my, as well. 

Amy was a smart little housewife, and .she had a 
gentle but firm way with the smaller children that 


^'Where There’s Smoke There’s Fire” 243 

kept them well in hand when their mother was out 
of the way. 

Gummy, driving Mr. Harriman’s delivery wagon, 
was at the Day house once or twice a day to see his 
mother, and of course Mrs. Carringford was always 
at home by seven or eight o'clock at night. The 
Days had set forward their dinner hour while Mr. 
Day was held in the house. 

Janice would not sleep upstairs herself at first, 
while her father so often needed her. She made up 
a bed on another couch that was drawn in from the 
dining room, and slept there. Often in the night 
daddy grew restless and was thankful for a glass of 
fresh water or for some other small comfort. 

There was one nigh" Janice knew she should never 
forget, no matter to what age she lived. It was soon 
after her father was brought home ‘‘an invalid,” as 
he laughingly called it. He had been in much pain 
all day, and Janice knew it well enough, although 
he smothered his groans when she was within hear- 
ing. 

But he could not smother his mutterings at night. 
Toward dark he grew feverish and very restless. 
And when one has a “glass leg,” as the ambulance 
man had called it, and cannot twist and toss to re- 
lieve that restless feeling, one’s situation is, indeed, 
pitiful. 

Janice put out the living-room light early. The 
light only made the night-flying insecfs buzz and 


244 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

blunder at the window screens. And how is it that 
moth millers will get into the most closely screened 
house ? This was a vexing mystery to Janice. 

After it was dark and the insects went to buzz 
elsewhere daddy dropped to sleep. Janice had been 
upstairs to remove her clothing, and had come down 
again with a thin negligee over her nightgown. 

She listened to her father’s uneven breathing and 
to his restless murmurs. Before creeping into her 
own cot across the room, she went softly to daddy’s 
side and knelt on the floor. His face was flushed 
and his thick hair wet with perspiration. The bar- 
ber had not been to shave him for two days, and 
Janice just knew the ''prickles” on his face must feel 
very uncomfortable. 

His head rolled from side to side upon the pillow. 
She wished she could do something to relieve him. 
She did not want to wake him up; but if she could 
only lave his face and hands with cool water 

Suddenly his mutter ings became intelligible. Jan- 
ice was held there on her knees — absorbed and 
almost breathless. 

"Laura !” 

The name was uttered so passionately — so rever- 
ently — that Janice found the tears spring unbidden 
to her eyes. Daddy had spoken her dead mother’s 
name in his sleep. Indeed, it seemed as though he 
called to the loved one who had gone from them 
never to return. 


"Where There’s Smoke There’s Fire” 245 


"‘Laura !” 

"‘Daddy 1 ” breathed the girl. “It's me, not mam- 
ma ! I — I'm all that's left to you !" 

He seemed, even in his sleep, to have heard Jan- 
ice's murmured words. 

“All that was left to me,” Broxton Day sighed, 
repeating, as Janice thought, what she had said. 
Or did he repeat Janice's words? “Your dear 
thoughts — and gone! gone! If I could only find 
them again. The box — Olga ” 

His mutterings trailed off into unrecognizable 
delirium. He muttered, and his inflamed face 
moved from side to side upon the pillow. He did 
not know her at all — ^his heartsick, sobbing little 
daughter ! 

For Janice could understand at last what went 
on in his poor, troubled brain. He was dreaming 
of the packet of letters — ^the letters that were so 
precious to Broxton Day — in the secret compartment 
of the lost treasure-box. In the fever of the man's 
brain nothing else seemed so important to him as his 
lost wife's letters I 

Of course, all of Janice Day's school friends did 
not go away from Greensboro for the summer vaca- 
tion; or, if they did go away for a little visit, they 
were soon back again. 

And when the girls heard that Janice's father had 
broken his leg and that Janice was tied to the house 


246 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

with him, they began to come to see her, and inquire 
about daddy, and cheer her up. 

None of them realized that, with Mrs. Carring- 
ford at the head of housekeeping affairs, Janice had 
not felt so free and cheerful for some months as 
she did at this time. 

Daddy soon grew better, and he began to sleep 
peacefully at night. The surgeon, Dr. Bowles, who 
came occasionally, said the bones were knitting all 
right. Mr. Weeks and Janice even got the patient 
up into a wheel chair which had an arrangement 
that made it possible for the broken leg to rest 
stiffly before daddy, and he could wheel himself out 
on the front porch. 

There was just the one thing to trouble the girl ; 
that was the mystery of the lost treasure-box and 
the secret sorrow she felt because she had been care- 
less with it. Without her carelessness, she told her- 
self, Olga Cedarstrom would never have taken it out 
of the house — if that was really how the keepsakes 
had come to disappear. 

It was Bertha Warring who chanced, when she 
first came to see Janice after her return from an ex- 
citing trip to Chicago, to mention that girl, Olga. 
At least she spoke of the ^‘Olga’’ who had been at 
the Latham house and had broken Mrs. Latham^s 
glass dish the night of Stella’s party. 

meant to speak to you about wHat Stella sai3,’* 
Bertha remarked, ^'before T went away. But we 


'"Where There’s Smoke There’s Fire” 247 


went in such a hurry. You know, Stella can be 
awfully mean.'' 

“Why, she’s not always nice,” admitted Janice 
whose opinion of the farmer’s daughter had changed 
a good deal during the past few months. 

“I must say you let Stella down easy when you 
say that,” laughed Bertha. 

“Oh, she gets mad, and says mean things. But 
I don’t think ” 

“Now, stop it, Janice Day!” exclaimed the other 
girl. “You know very well that Stella is just as 
mean as a girl can be. See how she spoke of Amy 
Carringford. And Amy is an awfully nice girl.” 

“Yes, Amy is nice,” admitted Janice, happily. 

“Well, now, look here,” said Bertha, earnestly. 
^'Stella said something you did not hear once about 
that Swedish girl.” 

“Oh, I guess I am not particularly interested in 
that girl,” Janice said slowly. “My father asked the 
Johnsons about her. You know that girl was stay- 
ing with them at the time of the party. She ran 
away, I guess, because she was afraid Mrs. Latham 
would make trouble about the broken dish. But the 
Johnsons said her name was not Cedar strom.” 

“Mercy, what a name!” laughed Bertha. “Just 
the same, there is something about that girl that 
Stella knows, and that she said you would give a 
good deal to know.” 

^Why, I can’t imagin g ^ 


248 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

‘'That's just it," said Bertha, quickly. ‘Tt sound- 
ed so mysterious. I ought to have told you about 
it there and then. But you know how jumbled up 
everything was, just the last days of school." 

"That is so," admitted the puzzled Janice. 

"But, you know, Stella and I went away on the 
same train together." 

"No! Did you?" 

"Yes. She changed cars before we got to Chica- 
go; but she sat in the chair car with me for a long 
way. And I pumped her about what she meant 
when she spoke the way she did regarding that 
Swede." 

"Yes?' ’ 

"Why, she giggled, and made fun, and wouldn't 
say anything much at first. But I hammered at 
her," said Bertha, "until I got her mad. You know 
Stella loses her temper and then — ^well, it's all off !" 
and Bertha laughed gaily. 

"Oh, Bert!" admonished Janice warmly, "I don't 
think we ought to get her mad." 

"Oh, she'll get glad again," said Bertha careless- 
ly. "Don’t worry about Stella, Miss Fussbudget." 

Janice laughed then, herself. She did not mind 
Bertha Warring's sharp tongue. 

"Well, as I was saying, I got her finally to say 
something more about that Olga. And what do you 
.suppose she did say ?" 

"I could not guess," said the wondering Janice. 


'"Where There's Smoke There’s Fire” 249 


"Why, that it was very true her name was not 
Cedarstrom now. That is just the way she said it 
before she got up and flounced out of the car.” 

"Oh, Bert!” gasped Janice. 

"Do you see ? I was some minutes catching on to 
it,” Bertha said, rather slangily. "But you see, I 
guess. That girl had been known as 'Olga Cedar- 
strom’ at some time or other, you mark my word. 
And Stella found it out and would not tell you.” 

"Then she must be married. Of course her name 
is not Cedarstrom now,” murmured Janice. 

"Oh ! is that it ? I didn’t know but she was a real 
crook,” said Bertha, "and had what they call an 
‘alias.’ ” 

"No-o, I don’t believe so. The last daddy learned 
about her over at Pickletown, some of the Swedish 
people there thought she must have gone off to get 
married. She was going with a young man who 
works in one of the pickle factories. His name is 
Willie Sangreen.” 

"And what’s become of him ?” asked the interest- 
ed Bertha. 

"He went away, too.” 

"They ran off and got married! Of course!” 
cried the romance-loving Bertha. "And that Stella 
Latham found it out and wouldn’t tell you. May- 
be your father — Oh! but he can’t go looking for 
them noAV that he has a broken leg, can he ?” 

"I am afraid not. We’ll have to wait. But do 


250 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

you really suppose, Bert, that Stella is sure of what 
she says ? Perhaps she doesn’t really know for sure 
about that Olga.” 

“Where there’s so much smoke there must be 
some fire,” Bertha said, with a laugh, as Janice 
walked out to the front gate with her. “I guess 
Stella knows — Oh, Janice! Talking about smoke,” 
cried Bertha suddenly, looking back at the Day 
house and up at the roof, “what is all that smoke 
coming out of your kitchen chimney?” 

Her startled friend looked in the direction indi- 
cated. Out of the chimney-mouth, and between 
the bricks, poured a vomit of black smoke. Then, 
as the girls looked, red flames darted out with the 
smoke — spouting four or five feet into the air above 
the top of the chimney. 


CHAPTER XXV 


ABEL STROUT AT THE ROOT OE TR 

The shock of seeing the chimney on fire did not 
overcome Janice Day as much as the thought that 
daddy was lying down, resting, in the living room, 
and that she would never be able to get him up and 
into his wheelchair and out of doors before the 
whole house was in a blaze. 

For those lurid flames darting out of the chimney 
looked very terrifying indeed. Bertha Warring 
ran out into the street, screaming; but Janice darted 
back into the house. 

Somebody outside screamed ‘‘Fire! Fire!" Jan- 
ice believed it must have been Miss Peckham. Little 
ever got past the sharp eyes of that neighbor in the 
next cottage. 

Janice heard her father ejaculate some exclama- 
tion, but she did not go to him first. She rushed, 
instead, to the telephone in the hall. 

Seizing the receiver, she rattled the hook up and 
down, hoping to get a quick response. 

“Janice !" she heard her father call. 

“Yes, Daddy. I'm coming!" she cried. Then in 
her car came the leisurely question : 


252 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

‘^Number, please?'' 

‘‘Central ! give me the Fire Department — ^please !” 
ejaculated the excited girl. 

“Number, please?" again drawled the unruffled 
Central. 

“Oh, quick ! Quick !" cried Janice into the instru- 
ment. “Give me the Fire Department. Our house 
is on fireT 

“Great heavens!" ejaculated her father from the 
living room. He was awake and heard Janice now. 

“Do be quick. Central!" cried Janice. “The Fire 
De " 

“Market, two, three hundred," said Central. 

“It's a wonder," thought Janice, even in her pres- 
ent state of mind, “that she doesn't call ‘Informa- 
tion' !" 

“Janice! where is the fire?" called her father. 

“It's the chimney. Wait, Daddy! I'll come and 
help you. The kitchen chim Oh !" 

Somebody on the wire just then said crisply: 

“Central Fire Station. What's wanted?" 

“Fire!" shouted Janice. “Our house! Eight- 
forty-five Knight Street!" 

“I hear you !" exclaimed the man at the other end, 
and Janice almost threw the receiver back on the 
hook, and darted into the living room. 

Mrs. Carringford happened to be out. Janice, 
now that Bertha Warring had deserted her, was all 
alone In the house with the injured man. 


Abel Strout at the Root of It 253 

'‘Oh, Daddy!'' she gasped, seeing him already in 
his chair. 

"Give me a push, child. Where is the fire? This 
is something new — ^the first time the Days were ever 
burned out.” 

"It's the kitchen chimney. But I can’t get you 
down the front steps ” 

Meanwhile she was pushing him out on the 
porch. People were running toward the house now 
and many were shouting. But it did not look like 
a very helpful crowd. 

Just then Janice saw a wagon being driven rather 
wildly along the street toward the house. It was 
not a part of the Fire Department equipment, al- 
though she looked eagerly for that. The nearest 
fire station was fully half a mile from the Day house. 

The children in the street scattered as the horse's 
pounding feet on the macadam warned them of his 
approach. The driver stood up, his feet braced 
against the dashboard, yelling to the horse to stop 
as he swung back on the reins. 

It was Gummy ! 

"Hi, Janice! Your chimney’s on fire!” he shout- 
ed, when he had stopped the horse. 

"Well, for goodness* sake!** exclaimed Janice, 
"doesn’t he suppose we know it, with all this crowd 
— and noise — and everything?*^ 

Gummy tumbled out of the covered wagon. He 


254 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker. 

came down on all fours, he was in such a hurry ; but 
he was up again in a moment. 

'Hi, Janice ! I can put it out, if I can get out on 
to that ell roof through that little Window up there.’’ 
he cried. 

"That’s the hired girl’s room,” gasped Janice. 
"What’s he going to do? Take pails of water out 
there and throw them down the chimney?” 

"Give the boy a chance,” said daddy. "Maybe he 
can do something.” And to Janice’s amazement, 
her father was smiling. 

Gummy ran around to the back of the wagon. He 
dropped the tailboard, backed around, and got a 
bag on his shoulders. With this he staggered to- 
ward the house. 

"Oh, Gummy!” screamed Janice, "what have you 
got in that sack ?” 

"Salt,” replied the boy, panting up the steps. 
"Half a shushal of bait. I was takin’ it out to 
Jones’s.” 

"Salt?” gasped Janice, in her excitement not 
noticing at all that Gummy had again "gummed up 
his speech,” to quote his own expression. "Why, 
what good is salt? That chimney is blazing.” 

"Salt will do the trick. Show me the way to 
that window. Salt will put out a fire in a chimney 
better than anything else.” 

"Let him have his way, Janice,” said her father 
quickly. 


Abel Strout at the Root of It 255 


She thought she heard the gong of some of the 
fire apparatus approaching; but she was not sure. 
She gave Gummy a hand, and they ran upstairs with 
the sack of salt 'etween them. 

Here was the small room. She flung open the 
door and Gummy flung up the lower sash of the 
window. He almost dived out upon the tinned 
roof of the kitchen ell. 

‘‘Quick! Give me that salt!” he cried reaching 
in for it. 

Janice helped him lift the bag out of the window. 
He dragged it along the roof toward the chimney 
that now vomited black smoke and flames in a very 
threatening volume. Fortunately the light wind 
drifted it away from the main part of the house. 

“Oh, Gummy, you’ll be burned to death — ^and 
then what will your mother say?” cried Janice. 

Gummy was so much in earnest that he did not 
even laugh at this. He dragged the sack of salt as 
close to the burning chimney as he dared. Then he 
got out his pocketknife and cut the string. 

Everybody in the street below was yelling to him 
by this time, telling him what to do and how to do 
it. Gummy gave them little attention. 

The smoke choked him and occasionally a tongue 
of flame seemed to reach for him. But Gummy 
Carringford possessed a good deal of pluck, and he 
was strong and wary for so young a boy. Shield- 
ing his face as best he could from the heat and 


256 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

smoke, he began to cast double handfuls of salt into 
the chimney. 

The chimney was fortunately not as high as his 
head and Gummy could do this as well ats a man. 
The soot which had gathered in the chimney (per- 
haps it had not been cleaned out since the house was 
built) was mostly at the bottom, and the flames 
came from down there; but the hot bricks would 
soon set the roof on fire, if not the walls inside the 
house. 

The salt smothered the fire wherever it landed. It 
was better than sand for such a purpose, for salt is 
damp and seems to possess smothering qualities all 
its own when rained upon the flames. 

Before half the contents of the bag had been 
thrown down the chimney the flames no longer 
leaped above its top. The smoke continued to roll 
up, and Gummy felt pretty well smothered himself 
when the Fire Department apparatus came clanging 
up to the house. 

One of the firemen with a portable extinguisher 
rushed upstairs, got out at the small window and 
reached Gummy’s side quickly. 

‘‘Good boy, kid !” he said. “Let’s give it the acid,” 
and he began to squirt the contents of the fire ex- 
tinguisher down the chimney. 

Gummy staggered back and sat down, coughing. 
His face and hands were pretty black and he was 
breathless. When he got back downstairs and the 


Abel Strout at the Root of It 257 

firemen had declared the conflagration entirely ex- 
tinguished, Gummy found himself quite a hero. 

The excitement had hurt nobody, after all. Jan- 
ice was glad Mrs. Carringford was not there at the 
time, or she certainly would have been worried about 
Gummy. 

“You are an awfully smart boy, Gummy,” Janice 
declared, clinging to the boy’s hand. “I — I won’t 
ever make fun of you again when you get mixed 
up in talking.” 

Mr. Day overheard this and laughed heartily. He 
too, shook Gummy cordially by the hand. 

“You have a head on you, son,” he said. “How 
came you to think about the salt?” 

“I saw a chimney on fire in the country once, and 
they put it out with salt,” the boy replied. “I’ve got 
to hurry back to the store and get more salt for the 
Jones’s now. I guess Mr. Harriman will be mad.” 

“Oh, no he won’t. I’ll call him up on the tele- 
phone and tell him to put this sack on my account. 
He won’t scold you, I am sure,” said Mr. Day. 

In fact, everybody who heard about the matter 
praised Gummy Carringford. They began to say 
“that boy with the funny name is considerable of a 
boy,” and things like that. Mr. Day gave him a little 
money, although Gummy did not want to take that. 

^'You treat your little brothers and sisters with 
it,” Janice’s father said laughing. “They didn’t 
have the fun of seeing you put out the fire.” 


258 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


“We-ell,” said the thoughtful boy, “1*11 see what 
Momsy says about it first/’ 

When Mrs. Carringford returned to the house 
Mr. Day himself told her of the fire and of what 
Gummy had done, and how proud she should be of 
him, too. And Mrs. Carringford was proud — Mn 
Day could see that. 

“Boys are awfully nice to have around the house, 
aren’t they, Daddy?” Janice said that evening as 
they sat alone. “I never did think before that I’d 
care to have a brother. You see, you are just like 
a brother to me. Daddy.” 

“I see,” said Daddy, chuckling. “When it comes 
to chimney fires and such excitement, a boy comes 
in handy, is that it ?” 

“Why — ye-es. Bert Warring ran away, crying, 
and I couldn’t do much but squeal myself,” said 
Janice gravely. 

“And telephone for the Fire Department, and 
help me out, and aid Gummy to carry up the salt, 
and ” 

“Oh, but. Daddy, those are all such little things !” 
sighed Janice 

Janice thought things were going pretty well after 
that. They were so glad to have their house saved 
from destruction, and so proud of Gummy, that 
everybody seemed all right. But there was trouble 
coming, and one afternoon Amy brought it to the 
Day house. 


Abel Strout at the Root of It 259 


Amy, in tears, came to see her mother, Janice 
chanced to be in the kitchen when she entered from 
the Love Street gate. Amy had in tow a curly- 
haired dapper little man who looked too oily to be 
honest, and with little gimlet eyes that seemed to 
bore right through one. 

‘'Oh, Mother!'' gasped Amy, “this — ^this man’s 
come to take our house awa}* from us !" 

“What is this now ?" exclaimed Mrs. Carringford, 
in as much surprise as fear. 

“Yes, he has. He said so. He's got papers, and 
all,” sobbed Amy. 

“Ahem! the young lady puts it very crassly in- 
deed,” said the curly-haired man. “You, I pre- 
sume, are Mrs. Josephine Carringford,” he went on, 
reading from a paper. 

“Yes.” 

“I am serving you in the suit of Mrs. Alice G. 
Blayne, of Croydon, Michigan, my client, to recov- 
er a certain parcel of property situate on Mullen 
Lane and now occupied by you and your family, 
Mrs. Carringford,” said the man glibly, and thrust- 
ing a paper into the woman's hand. 

“But I bought my home through Mr. Abel Strout, 
of Napsburg,” gasped Mrs. Carringford. She did 
not recognize Jamison, the farm hand, in the trans- 
action at all. She now felt that man was but Abel 
Strout’s tool. 

“Oh ! As to that, I have nothing to say,” said the 


26o Janice Day, the Young Homemal: 

curly-haired lawyer, smiling in a way Janice did not 
like at all. “I merely represent my client. The 
property has been claimed by several people, I be- 
lieve, and may have been sold a dozen times. That 
will not invalidate my client's claim." 

“But I never even heard of this Mrs. Blayne,” 
murmured Amy's mother. 

“A poor widow, ma'am," said the lawyer blandly^ 
‘‘And one who can ill afford to lose her rights. She 
was heir of old Peter Warburton Blayne who lived 
in that house where you now reside for a great 
many years. He died. His heirs were not in- 
formed. The place was sold for taxes — for a nom- 
inal sum, ma'am. Of course, a tax-deed has no 
standing in court if the real owner of the property 
comes forward ready to pay the back taxes, accrued 
interest, and the fixed court charges." 

“But I got a warranty deed!" cried Mrs. Car- 
ringford. 

“That is a matter between you and the person 
you say you bought the house of," said the lawyer 
calmly. “If you consider that you have a case 
against him you will have to go to court with him. 
Ahem! An expensive matter, my dear madam, I 
assure you. Probably the man who sold to you 
had every reason to believe he had a clear title. It 
has passed through several hands since Peter Blayne 
died, as I say. 

**1 cannot advise you as to that, ma’am,” pur- 


Abel Strout at the Root of It 261 

sued the lawyer. ‘Those papers are in regard to 
this suit that is already entered against you. Of 
coui'se, it would be cheaper for you to settle the case 
out of court ; but you will probably want to fight us. 
Most women do.” 

At this point Janice got to her feet and ran out 
of the room. She rushed in to where her father 
was writing on a lapboard across the arms of his 
chair. 

Meanwhile Mrs. Carringford and Amy were 
clinging together and facing the dapper, voluble, 
little lawyer in the kitchen. Amy was sobbing ex- 
citedly; but her mother said firmly: 

“Abel Strout is at the root of this 

“I assure you,” said the lawyer politely, “my client 
is Mrs. Blayne. I have nothing to do with Abel 
Strout.” 

“He is at the root of it, nevertheless,” said Mrs. 
Carringford confidently. “I saw it in his eye when 
he was last in my house. He means to turn me and 
my children out, and ruin us !” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE CLOUDS LOWER 

Janice was so excited she could scarcely speak 
intelligibly for a minute. But finally she made her 
father imderstand what was going on in the kitchen. 

‘‘And he’s come to take their house right away 
from them/’ concluded the girl. “He’s given her a 
paper, and she’s got to give him the house — ^and 
everything !” 

“Oh, no; not so bad as all that,” said daddy, 
soothingly. “Things aren’t done in just that way — 
not even by shyster lawyers. This is just a notice of 
suit he has given her. But you run, Janice, and tell 
them to come in here. I will hear what this man has 
to say.” 

So Janice ran back to the kitchen. She held the 
door open, and, with rather a commanding air for 
so young a girl, looking straight at the curly-haired 
man: 

“You and Mrs. Carringford come into the living 
room. My father wants to see you.” 

“Hey?” said the man. “Who is this?^* 

“Mr, Broxton Day,” said Mrs. Carringford, 


262 


The Clouds Lower 263 

quietly. think we had better see Mr. Day before 
we go any farther in this matter. 

‘‘Oh, I have no interest in seeing anybody else, 
ma’am,’’ said the lawyer hastily. “Of course, you 
can take advice if you wish to. Every move you 
make, however, will cost you money, as you’ll find. 
It will be throwing good money after bad money, I 
assure you. 

“Now if you feel like settling the matter out of 
court ” 

“We will go in, and you can say all that before 
Mr. Day,” said Mrs. Carringford firmly. “It seems 
to me I shall understand it better in front of him.” 

“Daddy is waiting for you,” said Janice urgently. 
“He has a broken leg so he can’t come here to get 
you,” she added looking at the lawyer significantly. 

Maybe the fact of this assurance — ^that Broxton 
Day was practically helpless physically — led the law- 
yer to take a chance in the living room. But he was 
manifestly very ill at ease from the moment he 
heard Mr. Day’s name mentioned. 

“Will you oblige me with your name, sir?” said 
daddy in his ever-courteous way. 

The curly-haired man fumbled for a card and 
finally handed one to Mr. Day. 

“ ‘Mr. Jonas Schrimpe,’ ” repeated daddy. “Are 
you practising at the bar here in Greensboro?” 

“My office is in Napsburg, Mr. Day. Three- 
forty-two Main Street.” 


264 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

“Ah ! Are you acquainted with Mr. Abel 
Strout?’’ 

“I have nothing to do with Mr. Strout,” said the 
man, rather sharply. “I have already told the lady 
that. My client is Mrs. Blayne 

“I understand,’' said Mr. Day suavely. merely 
asked you a question, Mr. Schrimpe. Do you know 
Mr. Strout?” 

“Well — I know him by sight.” 

“Naturally. As I chance to remember his office is 
in the same building on Main Street as your own. 
I remember the number,” said Mr. Day smiling. 
“Three hundred and forty-two Main Street.” 

Mr. Schrimpe fidgeted and turned very red in the 
face. Mr. Day went on quietly: 

“Is this client of yours in Napsburg?” 

“She lives in Croydon, Michigan.” 

“In Michigan! How came she to pick out you 
Mr. Schrimpe, for an attorney in this matter? For- 
give the question ; I am curious.” 

“Why — I — I was recommended to her.” 

“Ah ! By a friend, I suppose.” 

“She — she heard of me down here, and wanted 
to put the case in a lawyer’s hands on the spot.” 

“ 'On the spot,’ ” repeated Mr. Day. “Why not 
in some lawyer’s hands in Greensboro, rather than 
Napsburg?” 

Mr. Schrimpe seemed very confused, as well as 
angry; but he did not dare to assert himself. Mr. 


The Clouds Lower 265 

Day held out his hand for the paper the lawyer had 
given to Mrs. Carringford. 

**Jnst leave it to me, Mrs. Carringford,” he said 
confidently. ‘1 know just what to do. Possibly had 
I not broken my leg I would have been able to warn 
you of this.” 

‘Then that Abel S trout is at the root of it, just as 
I said,” she cried. 

“Not a doubt of it,” replied Mr. Day. “That 
John Jamison was but a dummy.” 

“I assure you,” began the red-faced lawyer, but 
Mr. Day interrupted: 

“Your assurances would not be accepted before 
this court, I am afraid, Mr. — ah — Schrimpe. Now 
would you mind, as you are in town, calling upon 
Mrs. Carringford's legal adviser in regard to this 
affair?” 

‘l_oh 

“Oh, Mr. Day!” interjected Mrs. Carringford, 
**3, lawyer's services cost so much.” 

“This man is my own ‘lawyer,” said Mr. Day 
promptly. “I assure you that he will look into this 
suit without charging you much, Mrs. Carringford. 
If Mr. Schrimpe ” 

“Oh, if it's not out of my way as I go back to the 
railroad station,” growled the curly-haired man. 

“Not at all. It is over the bank — ^the Farmers 
and Merchants Bank. Mr. Randolph E. Payne is 
the gentleman.” 


266 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


‘‘Great Scott!'* gasped Mr. Schrimpe, actually 
appearing to shrivel, “Mr. Payne?** 

“Yes. He is known to you?** 

“Everybody knows Mr. Pa)me.** 

“He is well known. As good a lavyyer, I believe, 
as we have in this part of the State. You do not 
mind meeting him?** 

“Er — will he see me, Mr. Day?** 

“I will telephone to him at once. I assure you he 
will give you a hearing — ^and thank you. Good day, 
Mr. Schrimpe.** 

Although daddy could not leave his chair, Janice 
saw' that he had a way of getting rid of visitors 
promptly when he wanted them to go. Mr. 
Schrimpe scuttled out in a hurry. 

“Wheel me to the telephone, Janice,** said Mr. 
Day cheerfully. “I hope Payne frightens that little 
shrimp out of a year's growth. If ever I saw a 
shyster lawyer, I saw one when that fellow came 
into the room." 

“Oh, Mr. Day! but this suit? That summons? 
What shall I do?** 

“Do nothing yet. I assure you, Mrs. Carringford, 
you will have one of the best lawyers in the State to 
tell you what to do when the times comes. Of 
course, if the matter comes to court, you will have to 
go into court and meet them. But don*t worry till 
that time comes. That is my advice.** 


The Clouds Lower 267 

'Then they can’t take our home away from us?” 
cried Amy joyfully. 

"Hold on !” advised Daddy. "I do not say that. 
I don’t wish to encourage you with any false hopes— 
nor to discourage you, either. I know nothing— 
absolutely nothing — regarding the legal status of 
this case. I have my suspicions that Abel Strout is 
behind it.” 

"Oh, I am sure of that !” cried Mrs. Carringford. 

"Nevertheless, it may be that there is an unsatis- 
fied claimant of the old Peter Warburton Blayne 
property. This Mrs. Alice G. Blayne may be per- 
fectly honest in her contention.” 

"But in that case won’t Mr. Strout or Mr. Jami- 
son give me my money back?” asked Mrs. Carring- 
ford. 

"If there was much chance of that, do you think 
Strout would have stirred up any such suit as this ?” 
asked Mr. Day quietly. "No. Strout at least thinks 
he sees his way to making you lose the house. Jami- 
son was his dummy — used by him in order to keep 
himself out of trouble.” 

"Oh, Mr. Day ! Don’t say that.” 

"1 say he thinks he has a chance. But he may be 
mistaken. Strout is sly. This may be merely a 
'strike suit’ started in the hope of scaring you into 
making a disastrous settlement with him. He wants 
to get the property back. The foundations for that 


268 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

factory are already being laid. Property values in 
Mullen Lane are going up.” 

‘‘Oh, dear me !” sighed Mrs. Carringford, starting 
back toward the kitchen, “this is a wicked world.” 

“Nothing the matter with the world,” said Mr. 
Day, cheerfully. “It^s some of the folks in it.” 

He called Mr. Randolph E. Payne's office then 
and talked to the successful lawyer for some time. 
To Janice, afterward, he would say nothing more 
encouraging than he had said to the widow. 

“When one mixes up with a sharper like Abel 
Strout, one is likely to be burned before he is 
through. Strout is always and forever turning little, 
nasty, legal tricks. And Schrimpe is an instrument 
fitted to Strout's hand. 

“Perhaps they have found some ignorant woman 
who really was a relative of Peter Blayne, and who» 
may have a small claim on the property. It is 
enough to invalidate the deed Mrs. Carringford has, 
and yet she will be unable to prove that Strout and 
his man Jamison knew about the fault in the title. 

“If he makes her sue to recover the thousand dol- 
lars she paid the legal fees will cat up that sum— 
and he can afford to hire lawyers and dribble along 
through the courts better than she can.” 

“Oh, Daddy!” 

“Yes, I am afraid, if Strout— or, rather, this 
Schrimpe — ^has a good case it will be better to settle 
it out of court.” 


The Clouds Lower 269 

‘Tut, dear Daddy! Mrs. Carringford has no 
money to pay lawyer’s fees, or settle cases,” urged 
Janice. 

‘True. And that is the unfortunate part of it. 
Let us wait and see what Mr. Payne advises after 
he has looked into the matter. Whatever he says, 
she would better do.” 

This ended the matter for the time being. But 
all the dark clouds of trouble seemed to have low- 
ered upon the Carringfords again. Janice Day was 
sorry for them, but this was a case in which she 
positively could not “do something” to help. She 
could only offer her sympathy, 


CHAPTER XXVII 


INFORMATIOlSr THAT IS TOO LATE 

During the days immediately succeeding the fire 
and the Carringford’s poignant trouble, Janice Day 
had a mental problem to solve which occupied her 
thoughts a good part of the time. 

Daddy's broken leg was getting along nicely. 
With the aid of crutches he could get around very 
well indeed. He had even gone down to the bank in 
an automobile. 

So Janice did not have to give him quite the close 
care and attention that she previously had. Daddy 
declared she was making a mollycoddle of him, any- 
way — that she babied him too much. 

She had more freedom of action, therefore, and 
now she proceeded to put a certain plan she had 
made into effect. Janice had not forgotten what 
Bertha Warring had said regarding the information 
Stella Latham had hidden from her, Janice, at the 
time school closed. 

Could it be that, after all was said and done, the 
Olga who had broken Mrs. Latham's dish was the 
same Olga that had run away with the Day’s trea- 


270 


Information That Is Too Late 271 

sure-box? Was it Olga Cedar strom, with her name 
changed, and Stella had known it to be so, all the 
time? 

Really, when Janice thought of this she felt ex- 
ceedingly angry with Stella. She had intended, 
after Stella had acted so meanly toward Amy Car- 
ringford, to let the farmer's daughter strictly alone 
in the future. She would have as little to do with 
her as it was possible, considering that she had to go 
to school with her. That was at first. Then her 
anger had cooled. Now it was aflame again. 

But if Stella knew positively that the Swedish girl 
who had visited Mrs. Johnson had been married, and 
therefore her name was no longer Cedar strom, Jan- 
ice was determined to find it out. Unpleasant as it 
might be to ask Stella, Janice would do just this. 

She knew Stella had returned from her visit to 
the lake shore resort. Janice had seen her flying 
past in the Latham car more than once within the 
week. Janice could not stop her at such times; she 
could not expect Stella to put herself out at all to 
give her any information. So she set forth one 
August morning to trudge through the heat and dust 
out to the Latham farm. There was no interurban 
car that would take her near there ; and how she did 
wish daddy could afford an automobile! 

Indeed, just as she turned up the road leading to 
the door of the Latham house a motor-car turned, 
too, into the road, powdering Janice with dust. The 


272 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

latter saw the malicious smile of Stella Latham, 
driving the car herself, as the farmer’s daughter 
looked back over her shoulder at the pedestrian. 

Janice kept grimly on; nor would she show Stella 
that she was hurt or ruffled in temper. Stella waited 
on the porch for her schoolmate to approach. A 
man came to take the car around to the garage. 

*Well, what do you want?” asked Stella, when 
Janice came within hearing. ‘Are you begging 
more old clothes for that protegee of yours. Amy 
Carringford ?” 

“I have come on my own business, Stella,” said 
Janice gently. “It is something that I want to know, 
and you can tell me.” 

Stella was smiling broadly; but it was by no 
means a pleasant smile. She was spiteful. She had 
found since coming back from her summer vacation 
that the girls had not forgotten her behavior toward 
Amy Carringford and some of them still resented it. 
She was nowhere near as popular as she had been ; 
and even her father’s motor-car could not regain the 
friendship of many of her schoolmates whom she 
wished to be chums with. 

Stella laid all this to “that sly Janice Day.” She 
dared not so speak of Janice before her mother; for 
Mrs. Latham liked Janice. Just now, however, 
Stella’s mother was not at home, and she felt free 
to treat Janice in any way she chose. 


Information That Is Too Late 273 


‘'Of course, you expect me to tell you everything 
you want to know, Janice Day,’’ said Stella. "But I 
don’t know why I should.” 

"You will tell me, won’t you, Stella, if you really 
know that the Swedish girl who broke your moth- 
er’s dish is the same girl who used to work for daddy 
and me ?” 

"Why should I?” 

"Because it is the right thing to do, isn’t it? You 
do not know what it means to us if we can find that 
girl ’ 

"And why should I care?” snapped Stella. "You 
never did anything for me, Janice Day.” 

"I think I tried to — at least once,” her schoolmate 
said mildly. 

"Nothing of the kind! You did something for 
Amy Carringford — the pauper! You were spoons 
with her then, and you wanted to get her to my 
party. You begged an invitation for her and then 
dressed her up like a freak so she could come, 
and ” 

"That is not so, Stella,” Janice interrupted with 
some spirit. "But I want to talk about Olga, not 
about Amy.” 

"Go along with your old Olga!” cried the other 
angrily. "I wouldn’t tell you anything about her if 
I knew.” 

"I shall go to Mrs. Johnson again then. And if 


2^4 Janice Day, the Young Homemakeri 

Mrs. Johnson is not willing to tell me, I shall come 
back and see your mother.” 

‘Dh! you will?” sneered Stella. '‘So you think 
the Johnsons will tell you about Olga’s last name 
do you ?” 

“I will ask them.” 

“Good luck to you !” jeered Stella, as Janice went 
on through the Latham’s yard. “You can ask any- 
body you like, but you’ll get nothing out of me I 
assure you !” 

Janice made no lurther reply. She was hurt to 
the quick, for she did not believe she deserved any 
such treatment from her schoolmate. And it did, 
too, worry Janice Day when she knew she had an 
enemy. 

“Friends are so much nicer to make than ene- 
mies,” was one of daddy’s sayings; and his little 
daughter always bore that fact in mind when in con- 
tact with her schoolmates. 

But really, one could do nothing with Stella 
Latham, once that subborn person had made up her 
mind to be “mad.” Stella gloried in showing all the 
perversity with which she was cursed; so Janice 
sighed and gave it up. 

“No use. I hope I won’t have to ask Mrs. Lath- 
am. Then there will be trouble, I fear.” 

The walk over the hill and down the lane, cross- 
ing the brook Gummy Carringford had once spoken 
of, was a pleasant walk, after all. It was not dusty, 


Information That Is Too Late 275 

and there were shade trees part of the way. By the 
time Janice came to the little house which her father 
and she had once visited to look for Olga, she was 
quite cool and collected again. 

But as soon as she drew near to the tenant house 
the girl was startled. There was not a sign of life 
about it. There were no wagons or farm tools about 
the sheds or barnyard. There were no cattle in the 
stable, nor pigs in the pen, nor poultry in the wired 
run. 

‘‘Goodness me! have the Johnsons gone, too?” 
cried Janice. 

She hurried to the little house. There were no 
curtains at the windows, and she could see right 
through the empty house. 

“That’s what Stella meant!” exclaimed Janice. 
“Oh, the mean, mean thing! To let me walk away 
over here without telling me that they had gone! 
And now she is waiting back there to laugh at me 
when I return!” 

Janice Day did not like to be laughed at any more 
than other people. And she particularly shrank 
from facing the sarcastic Stella on this occasion. 

“At least, I will make some inquiries elsewhere, 
first,” she thought, and set forth along the public 
highway, on which the little house fronted, toward 
another dwelling that was in sight. 

There were people in this house, that was sure. 
There were children playing in the yard and a pleas- 


276 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


ant-faced woman on the front porch, sewing and 
keeping an eye on the children. 

She did put on a somewhat forbidding air when 
Janice turned in at the gate; but then she saw the 
girl had no bag or sample case, so she brightened up 
again. 

“You haven’t anything to sell, I guess?” the 
woman began, even before Janice uttered a word. 

“Oh, no,” answered the girl. 

“Come up and sit down,” said the woman. Then 
she added: “Dear me, you are only a little girl. It’s 
hot walking. Will you have a drink of water?” 

“No, thank you. I got a drink at the well back 
there,” and Janice pointed at the tenant house on 
Mr. Latham’s place. 

“Oh, yes ; Latham’s cottage.” 

“The Johnsons used to live there, did they not?” 
asked the caller. 

“Swedes — yes,” said the woman. 

“I was looking for them.” 

•^'jBut goodness, you’re not a Swede!” exclaimed 
the woman. 

“Oh, no,” laughed Janice. “But I wanted to see 
them about a friend of theirs — a girl who used to 
work for us.” 

“Oh! I thought you couldn’t be a foreigner,” 
said the woman. ‘Well,” she added, “I’m afraid 
you’ll have to go a long way to find out anything 
from the Johnsons.” 


Information That Is Too Late 277 


“You don’t mean “ 

“I mean they’ve left the country,’’ said the 
woman. 

“Left this part of the country ?’’ 

“They have gone back to Sweden,” said Janice’s 
informant, nodding over her sewing. “Yes. They 
had a stroke of luck. Mrs. Johnson told me herself 
in her broken talk. Near’s I could find out her 
grandfather had died and left her a bit of property, 
and she and her family were going back to the place 
they came from ten years ago, to attend to it. Lucky 
folks, some of them foreigners. I don’t see for the 
life of me why they ever leave their homes and 
come over here, when they’ve got money and land 
cornin’ to them at home.” 

The woman talked on, even faster than Miss 
Peckham was wont to talk. But her volubility gave 
Janice a chance to recover her self-possession. She 
saw quite clearly that her errand had come to 
naught. Even if the Lathams positively knew the 
missing Olga had been named Cedarstrom before 
her marriage they probably did not know where 
Olga now was. 

The people who were the more likely to know, 
these Johnsons, had gone back to their native land. 
Janice wondered, despairingly, if Olga had gone 
back to Sweden too. 

But the girl was able to hide her trouble from 
this new acquaintance. The woman was glad to 


228 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

have her stay — and talk. Rather, the hostess did 
the talking. It was evident that she got little chance 
for conversation, living as she did on this rather 
lonely road. 

Janice planned what she would do, however, while 
she listened. Rather than go back and perhaps have 
another quarrel with Stella, she decided she would 
go home and tell her father what she had found out. 
He might write to Mrs. Latham for information — 
if the farmer’s wife had any — regarding Olga. 

At least, it was one sure thing, that such informa- 
tion as Janice had obtained was much too late. An 
ocean separated her now from the Johnsons, Olga’s 
friends. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


GUMMY COMES INTO HIS OWN 

Janice bade her new acquaintance good-bye with 
some difficulty. The woman by the roadside did 
love to talk. But when the girl was well rested she 
went on. 

She remembered very clearly the way she and 
daddy had come to the little Johnson cottage in the 
automobile. So she knew she could find her way 
back. One thing she did not take into considera- 
tion, however; that was, that an automobile gets 
over the ground a great deal faster than one can 
walk. 

An hour later, past mid-afternoon, dusty and foot- 
sore, she was still marching towards Greensboro 
along a very pleasant, but a very wearisome, road. 
She heard the rumble of wheels behind her, but she 
was too tired to turn to look. 

Motor car after motor car had passed her while 
she was trudging along in the dust, and not one 
driver stopped to offer her a lift. 

But a friendly voice now hailed her as a horse was 
drawn down to a walk. It reached Janice Day’s 
ear like an angelic whisper: 


279 


28 o Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

'Don’t you want to ride, Miss ?” 

She wheeled about with almost a scream of joy. 
^'Gummy Carringford !” 

"Jicksy! is that you, Janice?” gasped the boy. 
'I’d never know it, you’re so smothered in dust. 
What are you doing away out here ? Get in — do !” 

He offered her a hand and pulled her up to the 
high step into the front of the covered wagon. She 
almost fell to the seat. 

"You are the best boy!” she gasped. 

"Ain’t I ? They can’t get along without me at my 
house. What under the sun are you wandering 
around for away out here?” 

She told him in broken sentences, and he sym- 
pathized with her because of her disappointment. 

"I could have told you the Johnsons had gone, if 
you’d asked me. But I did not suppose you were 
interested in them any more,” he said. 

"And daddy, being out of the bank, did not know 
that Mr. Johnson had withdrawn his account and 
sailed for Europe. Oh, dear me, it is so exasper- 
ating I Everything about that Olga, and connected 
with her, is so mysterious.” 

"I wonder if I couldn’t find out something about 
ber in Pickletown?” suggested Gummy. 

"Daddy has been there often, I believe,” she said 
doubtfully. 

"But not of late.” 

"Why, no, I suppose not. He’s been tied to the 


Gummy Comes Into His Own 281 

house with a 'glass leg/ cried Janice laughing a 
little. 

'"You know I deliver orders over there twice a 
week for Mr. Harriman. A lot of those people 
can’t even talk English. WeVe a Swede for a 
clerk in the store. They write down what they want 
for me, and he puts up the orders. 

"But I know a lot of them to talk to— especially 
the boys that work in the pickle factories. I’ll be- 
gin by asking them,” said Gummy, with eagerness, 
for he wanted to help. 

"That will be nice of you, Gummy,” Janice said, 
never do know when we might come across 
some news of her.” 

"And you say you think she’s married ?” 

"It may be so. To Willie Sangreen. At least, 
she was going with a man by that name when she? 
worked for us.” 

"Don’t know any Sangreens over at Pickletown,” 
said Gummy, diaking his head. "And of course I 
haven’t seen your Olga.” 

"That is so. Gummy. But if the girl at Johnson’s 
that night was really Olga Cedarstrom, you’d know 
her again, wouldn’t you?” 

"Guess I would if I saw her,” declared the boy. 
"No fear about that. I’ll keep my eyes open, Jan- 
ice. 

With this promise he chirruped to the horse, that 
jogged along without paying very much attention to 


282 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


Gummy. He knew the road better than the boy did, 
for he had been over it many more times. 

'*Do you suppose that lawyer that came to see my 
mother will cheat us out of our home, Janice?’’ 
asked the boy suddenly, showing where his thoughts 
were anchored. 

*'Not if it can be helped. Gummy,” returned the 
girl sympathetically. '1 know daddy’s friend, Mr. 
Payne, will do all he can for her.” 

‘He hasn’t sent any word to her, or anything,” 
sighed Gummy. “We just don’t know what to do.” 

“All you can do is to ‘sit tight and hold on,’ I 
guess,” Janice said. “That is what daddy says he 
does when things look stormy for him.” 

“But, you see, it means so much to us,” said the 
boy, shaking his head. “Jicksy ! And me with such 
a miserable old name !” 

“Why, Gummy!” 

“How’d you like to be called Zerubbabelbubble, 
or something like that?” he demanded. “Nice 
enough for you. ‘Janice’! That’s a fancy name. 
But ‘Gums with’ I Jicksy !” 

“Why, Gummy!” exclaimed the g^rl again, “I 
didn’t know you hated it so.” 

“I do. I don’t talk about it. I know pa gave it 
to me because he thought a heap of his half brother. 
And Uncle John Gumswith was a nice man, I guess. 
He set my father up in business in the first place, 
when he was married.” 


Gummy Comes Into His Own 283 

“Oh, is that so, Gummy ?’ 

“Yes. I don't kick about the old name before 
momsy. You see, I guess Uncle John wanted them 
to name a boy after him ; and maybe they thought if 
they did so it might do me some good some time." 

“Oh, Gummy! That your uncle would give you 
money because you were named after him?" 

“Yes," said Gummy, nodding. “I don’t know. 
But " 

“And your uncle’s never been heard from? You 
never saw him, even?" 

“Nor he me," grinned Gummy. “He went off to 
Australia and never wrote. He was always travel- 
ing around the world, pa said; and he never did 
write. Just walked in on his folks without announc- 
ing he was coming.” 

“A regular wanderer," said Janice. 

“And now, jicksy I" exclaimed Gummy, vigorous- 
ly, “how I’d like to have him walk in on us now." 

“Oh, Gummy!" she said eagerly, catching the 
drift of his desire. ‘With his pockets full of 
money !" 

The boy nodded vigorously. “You see, Janice, it 
would be worth while being called ‘Gumswith’ then, 
sure enough." 

Janice could not blame Gummy Carringford for 
feeling as he did. He really should have something 
to pay him for being called by such an atrocious 
name! And Janice herself would be glad to have a 


284 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

rich relative walk into the Day house and present 
daddy — with an automobile, for instance. 

They came in sight of the house at eight himdred 
and forty-five Knight Street just as the very kind 
of automobile Janice would have loved to own was 
drawing up before the front door — a handsome, 
great, big touring car, big enough for her to have 
taken most of her friends out riding in at once. 

“Oh, who is that ?” she cried. 

“Man. Don^t know him,” said Gummy, cheer- 
fully, as the single occupant of the tonneau stepped 
out of the car and entered the gate. 

He was a well-dressed man, of more than middle 
age, and Janice^s heart began to beat faster. It did 
seem as though something must be about to hap- 
pen. 

Daddy was on the porch and she could see him 
greet the gentleman without rising. The stranger 
took a seat at Mr. Day^s request. And if Janice had 
been near enough to have heard the first words that 
passed between them, she would have suffered a 
great drop in the temperature of her excitement. 

“How's the leg, Broxton?” asked the visitor. 

“Coming on, Randolph. What’s the news ?” 

“Well, yes, I have news,” said the lawyer, nod- 
ding. 

“I know it. Or you would not have found time 
to get up into this part of the town. Well, what can 
vou tell Mrs. Carringford?” 


Gummy Comes Into His Own 285 

“Nothing much about that Mullen Lane property, 
I fear, that she will want to hear/* 

“Too bad, too bad,** said Broxton Day. “I am 
sorry for her. She is a hard working woman — and 
proud. No chance of helping her?** 

“I can settle the case for five hundred dollars. I 
cannot connect Abel S trout with this shake-down — 
for that is what it is. The woman up in Michigan 
never heard of her great-uncle*s property down here 
till this little Schrimpe told her. But we can*t con- 
nect him with Strout. Strout*s skirts are clear. 
And this Schrimpe had a perfect legal right to drum 
up trade. He*s that kind of lawyer,** said Mr. 
Payne, with disgust. 

“Five hundred dollars — and she will still owe 
Abel Strout a thousand on the mortgage,** sighed 
Mr. Day. 

“Yes. But I suppose, in time, the property will 
be worth it.** 

“It*s worth it now,** said Mr. Day. “That is 
what is the matter with Strout. But Mrs. Carring- 
ford hasn*t the money to spare. And at the present 
time nobody would put a second mortgage on the 
property.** 

“I suppose the woman up in Michigan gets about 
twenty-five — ^maybe fifty— dollars out of it. That 
would settle any quitclaim of this character. Half 
a dozen other heirs were bought off at the time; 
but she was overlooked. The rest of the five hun- 


286 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

dred — if Mrs. Carringford can raise it — will be split 
between Schrimpe and his principal.'" 

“There are some mighty mean people in this 
world/' said Broxton Day, grimly. 

“You've said it," agreed the lawyer. “Now, may- 
be I’d better see Mrs. Carringford. I understand 
she is here ?" 

“Yes." 

“Do you know much about her?" 

“I know she is a fine woman. They came here 
from Napsburg after the husband died " 

“Alexander Carringford, wasn't he?" asked Mr. 
Payne, taking some papers from his pocket. 

“I believe so." 

“They came originally from Cleveland?" 

“Maybe." 

“A correspondent of mine in Cleveland has writ- 
ten me about a family of Carringfords, and I 
shouldn’t be surprised if these were the same peo- 
ple. If they are " 

“What's all the mystery, Payne ?" asked Broxton 
Day, with sudden interest, for he saw that the law- 
yer meant more than he had said. 

“If this is Alexander Carringford's widow, I 
don't know but my news is in two pieces." 

“Meaning?" 

“Bad news, and good news. Let's call the wom- 
an. 

At that moment Janice, who had gone into the 


Gummy Comes Into His Own 287 

house through the back way, appeared at the open 
door. 

'This is my little housekeeper, Randolph,'* said 
Broxton Day, smiling proudly upon his daughter. 
"Janice, this is Mr. Payne." 

The girl came forward without timidity, but with- 
out boldness, and accepted the visitor's hand. 

"Is Mrs. Carringford out there?" asked Janice’s 
father. 

"Yes, Daddy. And Gummy." 

" 'Gummy' !" ejaculated the lawyer. ‘What’s 
that? A game, or something to eat?" 

Janice's clear laughter rang out with daddy’s 
bass tones. "Oh, no, sir," she said. "Gummy is 
'Gumswith Carringford.’ " 

"My soul!" ejaculated the lawyer, getting up 
quickly from his chair, "it is the right family. Come 
inside. Let's see Mrs. Carringford somewhere 
where we can talk without the neighbors seeing and 
hearing everything." 

For he had noticed the bowed blinds of Miss 
Peckham’s cottage only a few yards from the end 
of the porch. 

"Tell her to come into the living room, Janice," 
said Mr. Day, rising slowly and reaching for his 
crutches. But it was evident that he understood the 
lawyer’s excitement no more than Janice did. 

The girl ran back to the kitchen and urged Mrs. 
Carringford to come in. "And Gummy, too," she 


288 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


said. '‘Maybe he wants you. It is Mr. Payne, and 
he is daddy’s lawyer.’^ 

"It’s about the home, Gummy!” ejaculated Mrs. 
Carringford. 

"Oh, I hope he’ll tell us how to beat out that Abel 
Strout !” 

"Maybe it’s to say that Mr. Strout can take our 
home,” faltered Mrs. Carringford. 

"Come on, Momsy !” said her big boy. "I’m not 
afraid. If worse comes to worst, it won’t be so 
long before I can support you and the kids, any- 
way.” 

Now Janice thought that was a very nice speech 
and she remembered to tell daddy about it after- 
ward. 

They went into the living room and Mr. Day 
introduced Mrst. Carringford to his companion. 
The latter looked hard at Gummy. 

"What is your name, boy?” he asked rather 
sternly. 

"Carringford, too, sir,” said Gummy, politely. 

"The whole of it !” commanded the lawyer. 

"Er — Gumswith Carringford,” said the boy, with 
flashing eye but cheeks that would turn red. 

"Indeed?” returned the lawyer, staring oddly at 
Gummy. ‘You are something of a boy, I take it.” 
Then he wheeled to confront Mrs. Carringford. 

‘T am told,” Mr. Payne said, "that your husband 
was Alexander Carringford, of Qeveland ?” 


Gummy Comes Into His Own 289 


The woman was somewhat surprised, but said that 
that statement was correct. She could not see, dur- 
ing the next few minutes' cross-examination, what 
these questions had to do with that little cottage in 
Mullen Lane, and whether her family was to be 
turned out of it or not. 

After even his legal suspicion was satisfied as to 
Mrs. Carringford's identity, Mr. Payne said, again 
looking at Gummy: 

‘'Did you and your husband name this boy after 
a certain relative named John Gumswith. Mrs. Car- 
ringford?" 

“My husband's elder brother. Yes, sir. Gums- 
with is named after his Uncle John." 

“Humph! I should consider it something of a 
punishment if I were the boy," muttered the law- 
yer. Then he asked : 

“Have you heard from this relative — this John 
Gumswith — recently ?" 

“No, sir. Not for fifteen years," said Mrs. Car- 
ringford, her face suddenly paling. 

“Do you know where he is?" 

“I only know that he started for Australia fifteen 
years ago." 

“Sit down, Mrs. Carringford," said Mr. Day 
softly. “I assure you this is nothing to worry 
about." 

“I — should — say — ^not," agreed the lawyer. 
“Quite the opposite. And the boy need not look so 


290 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

scared, either. If he can stand that name he carries 
around with him — 

“Boy!” exclaimed Mr. Payne, “what would you 
say if somebody gave you two thousand pounds?” 

“Er — what, sir?” gasped Gummy. “Two thou- 
sand pounds of what? Must be an elephant ! That’s 
a ton.” 

How Mr. Payne did laugh at that! But neither 
Gummy nor Janice saw anything funny in his 
speech. Mrs. Carringford was watching the law- 
yer’s face, and she said nothing. 

“I mean two thousand pounds in money. That 
is something like ten thousand dollars. How about 
it?” asked Mr. Payne again. 

exploded Gummy. 

“Yes. Because your name is ‘Gumswith Carring- 
ford.’ Isn’t it worth it?” chuckled the lawyer. 

Gummy looked all around, paling and flushing 
by turn. Then he grinned widely and looked at 
Janice. 

“Jicksy !” he murmured, “the old name is worth 
something, after all, isn’t it?” 


CHAPTER XXIX 


*‘but we lose” 

It was such a happy surprise for Mrs. Carring- 
ford — and for Gummy as well — ^that they were well 
prepared for the piece of bad news which Mr. 
Payne had first told to Mr. Broxton Day. A five 
hundred dollar loss on the Mullen Lane property 
did not look so big when it was understood that, 
through Gummy, the Carringfords were going to 
get almost ten thousand dollars. 

It seemed that more than a year before, Mr. John 
Gumswith, of Melbourne, Australia, had died, leav- 
ing a considerable fortune to friends he had made 
there and with whom he had lived for more than a 
dozen years. But he had left a legacy, too, ‘‘to any 
son that my brother, Alexander Carringford, of 
Geveland, Ohio, U. S. A., may have had who has 
been duly christened ‘Gumswith* after me, to per- 
petuate my family name.” 

“Of course,” said Mr. Payne, dryly, “nobody 
challenged the will, and so it was probated. I 
should, myself, doubt the good sense of a man who 
would fasten kich an ugly name upon a boy whom 


291 


292 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

he had never seen, and who never did him any 
harm 

“Mr. Payne,” breathed Gummy, when he heard 
this, and earnestly, “for ten thousand dollars I’ll let 
anybody call me anything he wants to. Names 
don’t break any bones.” 

At that Mr. Faynt and Mr. Day laughed louder 
than they had before. But Janice knew that Gum- 
my was not selfish, nor did he think so much of 
money. He was delighted that he could help his 
mother in her sore need. 

“At any rate,” said Mr. Payne, “the administra- 
tor of Mr. John Gumswith’s estate had his legal ad- 
viser communicate with Cleveland lawyers; and 
they traced the Carringford family to Napsburg. 
Then I was requested to find them, and — they have 
found me!” and he smiled. 

“I congratulate you, madam. Of course, the 
courts will allow a proper amount to be used by you 
for Gumswith’s support.” 

“I guess not!” said Gummy. “Pm almost sup- 
porting myself — am I not, Mother? The money’s 
for you and the children.” 

“Oh, no, Gumswith, I — I cannot use your for- 
tune,” cried the mother quickly. 

“I have not yet finished,” resumed the lawyer, 
with a queer smile. “The boy has been left two 
thousand pounds for his name. The father receives 
a thousand pounds, payable either to him, or, If he 


^‘But We Lose’’ 


293 


be dead, to his widow. So you see there will be 
another five thousand dollars coming to you, Mrs. 
Carringford.” 

At that, Mrs. Carringford for the first time lost 
control of herself. She hugged Gummy and sobbed 
aloud. 

‘Tretty fine boy. Pretty fine boy,” said Mr. 
Payne. 

‘‘He is that,” agreed daddy, smiling across at Jan- 
ice. “He put out the fire in our chimney, didn’t he 
Janice ?” 

So this made them all laugh and they were all 
right again. There was much to talk over before 
Mr. Payne went, besides the bad fortune about the 
Mullen Lane property. And Mrs. Carringford and 
the Days talked after Gummy had rushed out to 
drive back to Harriman’s store. The dinner was late 
that night in the Day house. 

Indeed, Janice forgot, in all the confusion and 
excitement, to tell her father where she had been 
that afternoon, what she had gone for, and how 
sadly she had been disappointed. 

All this wonderful fortune for the Carringfords 
continued to create so much excitement at the Day 
house, as well as in the little cottage in Mullen Lane, 
that for several days Janice scarcely thought about 
Olga Cedarstrom and the lost treasure-box. 

For out of the good luck of the Carringfords, 
bad fortune for the Days suddenly raised its head. 


29^ Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 


Mrs. Carringford had a good deal of extra work 
to do, anyway, for she had to go to the lawyer’s 
office and to the Court, and interest herself in many 
things she had known little about before. She was 
fighting to save her home. 

Indeed, Amy declared the Carringford family did 
not know “whether it was on its head or its heels.” 
Only Gummy. Nothing seemed to disturb Gummy. 
And he would not give up his place with Mr. Harri- 
man. 

“He keeps saying,” Amy told Janice, laughing 
and sobbing together, “that the ten thousand dollars 
is for the family. He is going to keep on working 
until school begins, and even then after school and 
on Saturdays. Really, Janice, he is a darling broth- 
er.” 

“I believe you,” said Janice wistfully, for of late 
she had begun to realize that a household of just 
two people was awfully small. 

It became quite shocking when she suddenly un- 
derstood that Mrs. Carringford must give up looking 
after the Day household and attend thereafter strict- 
ly to her own family. Of course, Mr. Day had seen 
this from the first ; but it came as a shock to his little 
daughter. 

“Oh, but Amy, and Gummy, and the little ones 
get everything! They get their money and are 
going to own their home, and get their mother all the 
time, too. It is fine for them. Daddy ; but we lose !” 


‘^But We Lose’' 


^5 


“I am afraid we do/' said her father, nodding 
soberly. ‘We shall have to go back to the mercies 
of the intelligence office, or go to boarding.” 

“No, no!” cried Janice to this last. “Not while 
vacation lasts, at any rate. Why ! I've learned a lot 
from Mrs. Carringford, and we can get along.” 

“You are a dear little homemaker, Janice,” he 
said. “When you get a few more years on your 
shoulders I have no doubt that we shall have as nice 
a home as we once had — ^before dear mother went 
away. But you cannot do everything. We cannot 
afford two in service — a cook and a housemaid. We 
shall have to struggle along, ‘catch as catch can,' for 
some time I fear.” 

“But no boarding-house,” declared Janice. “No 
giving up our own dear home, Daddy.” 

“All right. I am going to get down to-morrow, 
crutches or no crutches, and I will make the rounds 
of the agencies.” 

“Oh, dear!” she sighed. Then suddenly, for she 
was looking out of the window: “Who do you 
suppose that is. Daddy, coming In at the side gate? 
V.^y! It's a black woman — awfully black. And 
she- ” 

Janice left off breathlessly and ran to the kitchen 
door. A woman of more than middle age but, as 
she said herself, “still mighty spry,” approached the 
porch. 

Hers was not an unintelligent face. Her dark eye 


296 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

beamed upon Janice most kindly. Her white, sound 
teeth gleamed behind a triumphant smile. She car- 
ried a shabby bag, but she dropped that and put out 
both hands as she came to the door. 

'‘Ma bressed baby!’* she cried in a voice that 
shook with emotion. ‘‘Nobody’s got to tell me who 
you is! You’s your darlin’ mamma’s livin’ image! 
Ma sweet Miss Laura, back a little chile ag’in !” 

The dark eyes were suddenly flooded and the 
tears ran down the negro woman’s plump cheeks. 
She was not wrinkled, and if her tight, kinky hair 
was a mite gray, she did not have the appearance of 
an old person in any way. Her voice was round, 
and sweet, and tender. 

“You don’ know me, honey. You kyan’t ’member 
Mammy Blanche. But she done hoi’ you in her arms 
w’en you was a mite of a baby, jes’ as she held you 
dear mamma — my Miss Laura. Ah was her mam- 
my, an’ she growed up right under ma eye. Don’ 
you understan’, honey? The Avions was mah white 
folks. 

“When Mistah Day come co’tin’ an’ merried yo’ 
mamma, and kerried her off here to Greensboro, Ah 
come along, too. An’ Ah nebber would o’ lef’ you, 
only ma crippled brudder, Esek, an’ his crippled wife 
done need me to tak’ care ob dem. 

“But Esek’s daid. An’ here Ah is back, chile — 
Ma soul an’ body! ef dar ain’ Mistah Brocky Day 
on crutches!” 


^‘But We Lose’^ 


297 


‘‘Blanche I Mammy Blanche exclaimed the man 
with real warmth, as well as wonder, in his tone. 
“Is it really you ?'* 

“It’s mah own brack se’f !” cried the woman, as 
daddy came hobbling forward to meet her just as 
though she were the finest company that had ever 
come to the Day house. 

“You couldn’t be more welcome if you were a 
queen, Mammy Blanche/’ he cried. “You know — ?” 

He halted, and his own countenance fell. The old 
woman clung tightly to his hand with both of hers. 

“Ah, yes; Ah got yo’ letter long, long ago, Mis- 
tah Brocky. It nigh broke my heart. Ma HI’ Miss 
Laura! But, glory!” and she turned suddenly to 
Janice, “here she is ober again!” 

“I know it,” said Broxton Day, wiping his eyes. 
“Come in and sit down, Mammy. Janice does not 
remember you, I suppose. But I remember well 
enough that we never had any housekeeping troubles 
when Mammy Blanche was on hand.” 

“Sho’ not! Sho’ not,” chuckled the old woman. 
“And Mammy Blanche jest as spry now, an’ able to 
do for you, as she used to be.” 

“What ? Have you come to stay with us awhile. 
Mammy Blanche?” asked Broxton Day. “Your 
brother ?” 

“Esek is daid. His wife’s gone back to her own 
people. Ah ain’t got nobody, nor nothin’ of mah 
own in dis here worl’ Mistah Brocky, onless dey is 


298 Janice Da;^, the Young Homemaker 

under dis here roof. I has come to stay, sah, if you is 
of a min’ to give mah ol’ bones house room.” 

Janice had been breathless. But she had listened, 
and gradually she had begun to understand. She 
could remember a good deal that her dear mother 
had told her about Mammy Blanche. And this was 
she! 

The girl put her hand confidingly into that of the 
black woman’s. She looked up at her father bright- 
ly- 

'T take it all back, Daddy,” she murmured. ‘T 
was ungrateful and suspicious of fate, wasn’t I? 
We don’t lose.” 


CHAPTER XXX 


WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED 

It took several days for Janice to understand 
thoroughly just what it meant to have Mammy 
Blanche in the house. Of course, Mrs. Carringford 
had been perfectly capable; yet she felt that she 
must ask Janice or Mr. Day once in a while about 
things. 

Not Mammy Blanche! She knew what to do, 
and how to do it, and just what ‘‘the white folks” 
wanted. She remembered just as perfectly how 
Mr. Day liked things on the table, and what he was 
fond of, and even how he wanted his bed made, as 
though she had only been absent from the house a 
week instead of ten years. 

“Why, bress your heart, honey,” she said to Jan- 
ice, “Ah come into dis here house when it was fust 
built. Ah cleaned it wid mah own ban’s. Ah put 
up de fust curtains at de windahs. Ah knowed 
where everything was In dem days. 

“But Ah spec* now you*s had so many no-count 
folks In de house fixin* fo* you dat Ah can’t find a 
bressed thing. Dars’s dat old walnut wardrobe up fn 


300 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

de sto'room. It come from de Avion place, it did. 
Ah bet de cobwebs ain't been swep' off de top o' dat 
wardrobe since yo' poor mamma died." 

‘It was too tall for Mrs. Carringford or me to 
reach it," admitted Janice. 

“Well, Ah's gwine to give dis place one fine over- 
haulin; come dis fall," went on Mammy Blanche. 
“Ah’ll fix dem cobwebs." 

It proved to be unnecessary for Janice to worry 
about the housekeeping in any particular. But she 
had not lost another worry, and in spite of all the 
wonderful things that had happened, and the inter- 
esting matters that were continually cropping up, the 
lost treasure-box containing the mementoes of her 
mother was continually fretting her mind. 

The opening of school was drawing near, and 
Janice began to take exciting little “peeps" between 
the covers of textbooks. She loved study, and 
daddy had been insistent this summer that she should 
let lessons strictly alone. 

She had plenty of time to sit in the kitchen while 
Mammy Blanche was at work there, listening to 
wonderful tales of her mother's childhood, and of 
the “doin's" on the Avion plantation on the other 
shore of the Ohio River. 

“All gone now, chile,” sighed Mammy Blanche. 
“Somebody else livin' in the Avion home.” 

But better than all, Janice, the homemaker, 
learned many new and interesting things about 


What Might Have Been Expected 301 

housekeeping. Mammy Blanche had a ^'sleight/' 
as she called it, in doing housework, and Janice 
might well copy her methods. 

Amy came often to see her, of course ; and Gum- 
my was at the house almost every day with orders 
from the store. One Saturday morning, while Jan- 
ice was sweeping the porch, she saw Gummy driving 
toward the house almost as madly as he had the day 
the chimney caught fire. 

‘Why, Gummy V* she cried, running out to meet 
him as he drew up the horse at the curb, “what is 
the matter ?** 

“You'd never guess shouted the boy. “What do 
you suppose? I just saw that pickle-girl in Olga- 
town.’* 

gasped Janice. 

“I — I mean I've seen that Pickletown in Olga — 
Oh, jicksy! Do you know what I mean, Janice 
Day?'’ 

“Yes! Yes!" she cried. “You've seen Olga." 

“Then jump right in here and I'll drive you to 
her," said the boy, without running the risk of an- 
other lapsus linguce. 

Without waiting even for a hat, and throwing 
her broom back over the fence, Janice scrambled in. 
But when Gummy started the horse she said to him : 

“Don't think you are driving in a chariot race. 
You'll kill Mr. Harrlman's poor old nag. Drive 
slower. Gummy. She won't get away, will she ?" 


302 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

*^No. I think she’s been living in that house some 
time. But I never go there for orders, and I never 
happened to see her before.” 

'‘Where is it?” 

“Away down by the canal,” said Gummy. 

“Oh ! Then it is a long way off.” 

“Yes.” 

“What will Mr. Harriman say ?” 

“There are not many orders this morning. And 
this is important, Janice.” 

“I guess it is,” agreed the girl, her face pale but 
her eyes sparkling with excitement. 

They did not say much after that until they 
came in sight of the house by the canal. Oh, if it 
should be Olga! Janice began to tremble. Should 
she have gone to daddy first about it? 

But daddy was still on crutches and was not fit 
to come out in this delivery wagon, that 'was sure. 

What should she say to Olga if it were she? 
Ought she to stop and ask a policeman to go with 
them to the house? And yet it was a fact that she 
absolutely did not know for sure whether Olga had 
taken the treasure-box or not. 

Suddenly she uttered a little exclamation. Gum- 
my glanced ahead, too. 

“Yes,” he said, “that’s the woman. That’s the one 
I saw that night at Stella Latham’s. 

“It — it is Olga Cedarstrom,” murmured Janice. 

Gummy drew the old horse to a stop. Janice 


What Might Have Been Expected 303 

leaped down. The Swedish woman turned and 
looked into Janice’s blazing countenance. Her own 
dull face lit up and she actually smiled. 

‘Well!” she exclaimed, “iss it Janice Day? I 
bane glad to see you. Iss your fader w^cll ?” 

“Oh, Olga!” gasped Janice. 

“Huh? What iss it the matter?” 

“We have looked everywhere for you!” 

“For me? Why for me? I don’t vork no more. 
I keep house for my hoosban’,” and Olga smiled 
broadly. 

“You — ^you are married to Mr. Sangrcen?” asked 
Janice doubtfully. 

“I bane married right avay when I left you. We 
go to his folks — dey leev up in Michigan. He try 
vork dere and I coom back on a veesit to Yon 
Yonson’s wife. He vork for Misder Latham.” 

“Yes, I know!” cried Janice, anxiously. 

“Now Willie bane coom back to his old yob at de 
pickle vorks. And how is you? You look fine.” 

“Oh, Olga, we have been dreadfully worried. 
When — when you went away from our house did 
you see a little box — like a jewel box? I left it on 
your trunk in the storeroom.” 

“On my troonk?” repeated the woman. “Where 
it stood in de storeroom?” 

“Oh, yes !” cried Janice clasping her hands. 

It had suddenly impressed her that beyond any 
doubt, Olga was not a thief. Whatever had hap- 


304 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

pened to the treasure-box, Olga did not knowingly 
have it in her possession. 

‘‘I remember de leetle box. Yes! You t’ink I 
take it 

*We haven't been able to find it since you left, 
Olga," cried Janice. 

''Huh! I saw it. But — Here! This boy will 
drive us back mit him to your house ?" 

"Oh, yes, Olga!" cried Janice, with a glance at 
Gummy, who nodded. 

"Fll go mit you," said the woman, and immediate- 
ly she climbed to the high seat. Janice followed 
her. Gummy turned the horse about and away they 
went on the return journey. 

On the way Janice thought it best to say nothing 
more about the lost treasure-box ; but she told Olga 
of how she had tried to trace her through the John- 
sons. 

"My bad look!" cried Olga. "I break a dish by 
that Latham woman's house and she vant me to pay 
for it. Huh ! people ought not to use such spensive 
dishes. Me, I use common chinnyware in my 
house." 

When they arrived at the house on Knight Street, 
Olga jumped briskly down and followed Janice in- 
side. Gummy called after them that he would wait. 
He was so excited and interested himself that he 
could not leave until the mystery was cleared up. 

"Ve go oop to dot storeroom," declared Olga and 


What Might Have Been Expected 305 


proceeded to do so, with Janice trembling and hop- 
ing beside her. 

Once in the room the woman seized a strong chair, 
climbed upon it, and, being tall herself, she could 
reach over the carved strip of woodwork on the 
front of the wardrobe to the space that lay behind. 
In a moment she brought something forth covered 
with dust and cobwebs that caused Janice to utter 
a shriek of delight. 

“That iss it, yes ?” said Olga. “I be mad mit you 
dot morning I leaf here. The box was on my troonk 
and when Willie come up the stairs for it, I grab de 
box and pitch it up hyar. I don’t know you vant it, 
Janice — and your fader.” 

“Well,” sighed Broxton Day, when he heard the 
good news and had the treasure-box in his hands, 
“ ‘all’s well that ends well.’ But what a peck of 
trouble that Swedish girl made us!” 

“No, no!” exclaimed Janice warmly. did it. 
It was my fault. I was the careless one, or the box 
would not have been where she could see it. But I 
am awfully glad. Daddy, that Olga proved not to 
be a thief.” 

Daddy showed her the tiny spring in the bottom 
of the box which, when released, enabled him to lift 
up the thin partition. He removed the thin packet 
of letters, and put them in a leather case, placing 
the case into the wall safe. 

*T know where they are now, my dear. Do what 


3g 6 Janice Day, the Young Homemaker 

you will with the other keepsakes and the treasure- 
box itself. I cannot tell you how glad I am to get 
these letters back.” 

But Janice thought she did know something about 
that. 

‘That Mexican mine business is not likely to 
cause us any more trouble until spring, anyway,” 
said daddy one night at dinner. 

“Oh, Daddy! then won’t you have to go down 
there?” Janice cried. 

“Not likely. Fact is, there is a big fight on in the 
mining country, and the mines have got to shut 
down. But the Government promises us that we 
shall be able to open up again next spring. We 
might as well sit tight and hold on, as I tell them. 
I’m sorry that so much of our funds are tied up in 
the business, however. Politics below the Rio 
Grande are ‘mighty onsartain,’ as Brother Jase 
would say.” 

“Now that Mammy Blanche is here with us, I 
would not have to go to Poketown, even if you did 
go to Mexico, Daddy, would I?” 

“M-mm! Well, that’s hard telling,” he replied, 
with twinkling eyes. “Let’s not cross that bridge 
till we come to it.” 

So Janice saw nothing but a cheerful vista before 
her — ^with school coming soon, pleasure in study. 


What Might Have Been Expected 307 

plenty of fun between times, and such a fortunate 
state of affairs at eight hundred and forty-five 
Knight Street that she did not have to worry about 
daddy's comfort or her own at all. 

Mrs. Carringford had had no easy time of it with 
the shyster lawyer and the others who were making 
trouble for her over her property. But in the end 
her own lawyer triumphed; and then the mortgage 
on the place was cleared off, much to the satisfaction 
of both the Carringfords and the Days. 

*‘It does seem,” said Janice with an ecstatic sigh, 
to Amy Carringford one day when both girls had 
their sewing on the porch, ‘‘that everything always 
does turn out for the best for us Days.” 

“Humph!” returned Amy, threading her needle, 
“I guess they wouldn't turn out so ‘right’ if you and 
your father didn't do something to turn 'em out.” 

And, perhaps, that was so, too. 


THE END 



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